Alliance
by Clowns or Midgets
Summary: Backed into a corner by Metatron's order to kill Kevin, Gadreel makes a different choice. Not clued in by Dean, Sam discovers the truth of his possession a different way and is forced to work with Gadreel to save them both. AU from Mid 9.09 – Holy Terror.
1. Chapter 1

**Just under a year ago, around the time Rock and A Hard Place aired, I had a SPN dream. They happen occasionally, and I love them. This one involved Zeke — as he was then — hijacking Sam and leading Dean around the country. It probably would have made a crappy story. Before I had done more than outline **_**that **_**story, Holy Terror aired, and kicked my story idea in the nuts. I archived the outline until a couple weeks ago when I was watching early S9 episodes and thought, **_**'Why not? **_**Thus, this story was born, bearing little resemblance to that long ago outline, but hopefully still a good read. **

**This story would never have happened had it not been for two wonderful women. SandraEngstrom1 and Gredelina1. They patiently held my hand while I hammered out details and gave each chapter their seal of approval. I love you ladies xxx**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter One<strong>_

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><p>"<em>Here's the first name on your to-do list. Decide." <em>

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><p>"<em>Didn't you say Sam was healed by an angel named Ezekiel?" <em>

"_Yeah, why?" _

"_Ezekiel is dead." _

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><p>Kevin pushed his chair away from the table and rubbed at his tired eyes; he was wrecked. He'd been at the tablet all day, and nothing more was forthcoming other than the realization there was something in there Metatron <em>really<em> wanted to keep hidden.

He needed a beer and something to eat, and then maybe some rest. Things had changed. When he'd been on Garth's houseboat, there had been nothing to do other than decipher the tablet, and no one to make sure he did human things—like sleep—between times. He thought when he moved into the bunker it would be more intense, with Sam and Dean ragging on him about working on the tablet, but they'd been cool. They saw he was busting his ass trying and made sure he took care of himself. He figured if they were done for the day, too, they could get a beer and take-out together.

He scrubbed his hands over his face and made to get up when he heard footsteps coming up the hall from the bedrooms. Sam appeared, a duffel slung over his shoulder.

"You guys heading out?" Kevin asked, a little disappointed.

Sam didn't answer. He just looked at Kevin with a strange expression on his face. It looked a lot like resentment. Sam had never looked at him like that before. He'd always been concerned or amused or grateful for whatever new detail he'd pulled from a tablet. This was new. Kevin wondered what he'd done wrong.

"You okay?"

Sam shook his head mutely and walked forward. He stopped beside Kevin and raised a clenched hand. For a moment, Kevin thought Sam was going to hit him, but Sam just opened his palm and dropped a crumpled piece of paper down on to the table. Kevin picked it up and flattened it, reading his own name in neat, block letters.

"What's this?" he asked.

Sam turned away and made for the hall.

"Hey!" Kevin called after him. "What's this and why do you have it?"

"It was an assignment," Sam said, voice all wrong. "It is a warning."

"A warning for what?"

Sam didn't answer. He strode away through the hall, out of sight. Kevin was tempted to follow him, but something held him back. He had never seen Sam act like that before, so cold, and he wasn't sure what would happen if he went after him. He thought he knew Sam pretty well, but the Sam he'd just encountered was all wrong, the voice alone raised red flags. He was being precise and correct rather than his usual relaxed drawl. He held himself different, too, tensed as if ready for attack. What the hell had happened to him?

He heard footsteps approaching and he thought for a moment Sam had rethought that slugging him idea then he heard Dean's voice shouting as he jogged into the room.

"Sammy!" His eyes raked the room and came to rest on Kevin. "Kev, you seen Sam?"

"Yeah… He was here a minute ago but he headed out."

"Out where?" Dean demanded.

"I don't know. He's acting kinda weird. Gave me this"—he held up the paper with his name on it—"and said it was a warning. He went down toward the garage."

Dean didn't even glance at the note. He just took off down the hall at a run. Kevin stayed, indecisive for a moment, and then he followed.

When he caught up to Dean, he was in the garage, staring at the spot where a sweet motorbike had been parked—Sam had said it was something to do with Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz and Dean had threatened him with pain if he even touched it, and Kevin knew enough to not doubt either one of them. But the motorbike was gone now, and so it seemed was Sam.

"I don't want to get in the middle of a Winchester family row, but what the hell did you do?" Kevin asked.

Dean stared at him with a kind of fever in his eyes. "What did Sam say?"

Kevin raised his hands. "Nothing much, Just that this was a warning, an assignment."

Dean snatched the note out of his hand and examined it. "An assignment," he muttered. "But then… Damn."

"What's going on?" Kevin asked.

Dean answered with a question of his own. "When Sam spoke to you, did he seem a little… off?"

Kevin nodded eagerly. "Like stiff and awkward talking? Yeah. He did. I figured he just was pissed."

Dean cursed and made for the Impala. He yanked keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. "Kevin," he said, suddenly even more intense, "don't leave the bunker, understand? I don't care what happens, what you think, you stay in here and don't let anyone else in. You got me?" He threw him the bunker door key.

Kevin nodded slowly as he caught it. "What about Sam, do I let him in?"

Dean looked pained. "Sam least of all. If he comes back, you call me. Pick a room and ward it against everything you can think of, most of all angels, and stay in there."

"Dean, what's happening?" he asked as Dean threw himself in behind the wheel.

Dean gunned the engine and called through the open door. "I screwed up, Kev. What's happening is that I screwed up."

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><p>Dean powered along US-36, his heart pounding and his foot pressing down on the accelerator hard. It was dark now, and Sam had been gone two hours. Two hours trapped in his own body as some angel dick rode him going who-knew-where and doing who-knew-what. Whatever it was, it was all on Dean. Anything that happened, anything he did, it was down to Dean. And the worst part was that he couldn't even regret it. He had made that choice to save Sam, and even now, knowing what he did, he would make the same choice again. It had saved Sam's life, and that was enough for Dean. That was his shame. He had once told Sam the things he would do for him and their father scared him, and that hadn't changed. He still scared himself.<p>

The road so far had been easy, no real traffic to speak of, but as he came past the city limits of Colby, his luck took an even bigger downturn. There was a solid wall of red lights ahead of him as he caught up with what had to be the worst tailback he'd ever seen. The roads were clogged with cars with brake lights shining. In the distance, Dean could see flashing red and blue lights of cops and ambulances. He wondered if the angel—whatever his name was—had orchestrated this, swerved in front of a car to make it crash, causing the pileup. Sam would be okay physically, wouldn't he? Dean had stabbed Castiel and Bobby had cracked him around the head with a tire iron the first time they'd met, but that had been different. Castiel had been at the peak of his angelic prime then, the angel in Sam had said he was trashed from falling; was that all crap designed to trick Dean into letting the dick take over Sam? Was Sam at the end of this row of cars, bleeding out?

He reached the end of the pileup and stomped on the brake then climbed out of the car. His eyes found the thin space at the side of the road. A car couldn't make it through that gap, but a motorbike could. That was if Sam had even chosen this route for his little escape. Dean had followed his gut and gone west from the bunker, but what if the angel had chosen East?

Dean threw himself in behind the wheel again and groaned. One thing was for sure, he wasn't getting through this traffic in a hurry, and when he did, Sam would be long gone. Loathe as he was to admit it, he had to do damage control now. Kevin was back at the bunker, hopefully safe—please God let him be safe—lurking in his warded room, without Dean's protection. The note had been a warning and an assignment, so Dean's had to be to keep him safe.

He reversed and did a u-turn in the road and then directed his path back to Lebanon.

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><p>"You said don't let anyone in," Kevin shouted from behind the locked door.<p>

Dean leaned his head against the cool metal. "I know I did, but I didn't mean me."

"How do I know it's really you?"

"Because you know me, maybe?"

He could almost hear the cogs turning in Kevin's brain through the door. He was unsurprised when he heard his voice say. "A demon would know everything you know."

Dean groaned. "Kevin, I'm not possessed—tattoo remember—and…"

"My mom had a tattoo, too, and she was possessed by that dick in the dungeon."

Dean punched the door, feeling the satisfying thud of flesh against metal and then the not so satisfying feeling of a knuckle cracking. "Kevin, dammit, open this door!"

There was nothing but silence on the other side.

"Draw a devil's trap inside, get the holy water ready, stab me with the demon knife if you need to, just let me in!" Those were all things that would show a demon, but they wouldn't do crap to an angel, not that Kevin knew angels were the monster this week.

"Okay," a reluctant voice answered. "Give me a minute."

He was actually going to do it all, Dean realized. He was going to get doused and stabbed in order to get into his own damn bunker. The hits just kept on coming.

A full five minutes later, the door creaked open and Kevin threw a jug of water at his face. It dripped down his nose and neck, pooling under his shirt.

"Happy?" he asked.

Kevin took a step back. "Not yet. You and Sam said there are some demons that aren't bothered by holy water. Walk through the trap."

Sighing, Dean pushed past Kevin and walked through the devil's trap he'd chalked into the floor. Not stopping to listen to Kevin's awkward defense and grudging apology, he continued down the stairs into the library and the liquor cabinet. He picked up the crystal decanter and poured himself a generous glass. Kevin was a funny drunk, but the last thing Dean needed was a prophet singing show tunes, so he didn't pour a second.

"Dean, what's happening?" Kevin asked. "I did as you said and turned my room into a keep-everything-out haven, but I still don't feel safe. I know you and Sam like to keep things close to the chest, but I could really do with catching up on the latest."

"I screwed up, Kev," Dean said dolefully.

"Yeah, you said that before, and while I'm totally onboard with the honestly, I could do with a few more details. Screwed up how?"

Taking a deep swig of his drink, Dean moved to the table and sat down. He set the glass down carefully, with measured movements, delaying the moment of explanation. It didn't help that it was Kevin he was having this conversation with, Kevin who didn't know Sam and Dean and they way they worked as well as John or Bobby had, or as well as Castiel did. He wouldn't understand why Dean couldn't have just let Sam go. He didn't know what Dean had done to save Sam before, and what had happened the one time he'd let Sam make the choice for himself. He didn't know that Sam had gone to Hell, dragging two pissed off archangels with him, and he didn't know what had happened when Sam had got free again. He hadn't been there when Sam was soulless or tripping balls and seeing Lucifer. He wasn't there when Castiel ripped down the wall. He didn't know that Dean had made one bad choice—to let Sam decide—and that had almost destroyed him. He just didn't understand.

"Dean?"

Dean blinked and dragged himself out of his thoughts. Bare minimum. That was the way to go. He had to give Kevin the facts so he was warned and prepared, leaving the other stuff till later—meaning never. There was no reason for Kevin to know just how done with life Sam had been in that chapel. There was no reason to tell him Sam was practically skipping off with Death when Dean'd tricked him into saying yes to the angel.

"Sam's not himself right now," he started.

"No shit," Kevin deadpanned. "What is he, a demon?"

Dean closed his eyes. It would have been easier if it was a demon. A little holy water, some latin, possibly another mottled scar where there had once been a binding mark, and Sam would be free again. There was only one way to get an angel out and that was if Sam did it himself, and there was no chance, no question that it was Zeke—or whatever his name was—calling the shots now.

"It's an angel. Sam has an angel in him."

"You mean he's a vessel?"

Dean almost laughed. If only Kevin knew how many times that fact and question had played over his mind and dreams. "Some angel has control of Sam," he said. "That's all you need to know."

"How about… no?" Kevin snapped. "I want to know more. I deserve to know more. It was my name on that paper. I was the 'assignment' which I've watched enough movies to know that means I'm the soon-to-be-murdered one, so I want to know what that angel's doing in Sam and why he wants me dead."

"Sam doesn't want you dead," Dean said forcefully. "That's the last thing Sam wants."

"Yeah," Kevin said slowly, "but I'm thinking Sam isn't the one calling the shots right now, which means I'm still on the hit list. So, how did you screw up?"

Dean took another hit from the glass, bracing himself. "Sam doesn't know he has an angel in him. That was all me. I tricked him and kept him in the dark about it."

"How do you even…?" Kevin started.

"Long story, Kev."

"I've got time," Kevin said, crossing his arms over his chest.

"No, you haven't. I need you on the tablet. Look for anything about getting angels out of vessels, anything about tracking an angel, and _anything_ about reopening Heaven. Cas has his grace back, and he'd be a whole lot more helpful if he had wings again."

Kevin raised an eyebrow. "You expect me to accept that as an explanation and hop off to work again like a good little prophet?"

Dean glared at him. "Accept it or not, it's what you're doing."

Kevin returned the glare for all of a few seconds and then he sighed out a breath and said, "Okay, but only till Cas gets here. Then, I want an explanation."

"Sure," Dean said dismissively, moving to the shelves and perusing the books on offer. As he looked along the titles he wondered if anyone else in the history of the Men Of Letters had ever screwed up as bad as him.

He doubted it.

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><p><strong>So… Gadreel's a man on the run and Sam's been dragged along for the ride. Poor Sammy. Poor Dean. Lucky Kevin. No lying on the bunker floor sans eyeballs for him this time. <strong>

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	2. Chapter 2

**Big round of applause for Jenjoremy who has taken over the task of beta'ing this story. She joins SandraEngrstrom1 and Gredelina1 in the list of people who make it possible to deliver something remotely readable.**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Two<strong>_

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><p><em>I got my Grace back. Well, not mine per se, but it'll do.<em>

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><p>Wings would have been better than the car; Castiel could have been with Dean in seconds, but his wings were a memory now. The car was better than walking, but it stopped inexplicably a few miles from the bunker, and Castiel was forced to make the rest of the journey on foot. At least his feet didn't ache anymore. That was one of the more disconcerting things about being made human—the pain. The first time he'd felt it, in his grazed hands, it had been a moment of awe, but that had soon changed to irritation and frustration as it didn't end. Even after the injuries from his encounter with Hael faded, he felt pain. His stomach would knot with hunger and his feet would tire and burn after days spent walking. Pain was gone now, but frustration was not. He needed to get to Dean fast, and he was forced to take a slow, human route—and the very worst part was that it was his own fault. He had been tricked by Metatron, and because of that, among many other things, he was forced to walk.<p>

When he reached the incongruous entrance to the Winchester's bunker, he paused for a moment and drew a deep breath into his lungs, bracing himself. He didn't know what he would be facing beyond that door. Ezekiel was dead, so whichever angel had helped Dean was a liar. Dean's reaction to the news on the phone had been violent, and that made Castiel believe the angel's involvement had not ended after he'd healed Sam. Castiel tried to prepare himself for the very real possibility that he was going to find a hostile angel inside with Dean and Sam prisoners. He could fight now, he was more than a hapless human, but there was no guarantee he would win with his borrowed grace.

He knocked loudly on the door and waited.

A moment later, Kevin's voice shouted through the thick metal. "Who is it?"

It was a relief to him to know that at least Kevin was safe.

"It's Castiel."

"How do we know it's really you?"

"For crap's sake, Kev!"

Castiel breathed a sigh of relief as he heard Dean's voice join Kevin's. That was two safe; the only one still in question was Sam.

There was a creaking sound of an old lock being turned, and then the door opened. Dean was revealed on the threshold, eyes shadowed and weary and face taut with stress. Behind him stood Kevin with a jug of water in his hand.

"Kevin, you toss that over him and I'll toss you down the stairs," Dean said in a low voice.

"How do we know he's not a demon?"

"Because I am an angel," Castiel said impatiently.

"Yeah, and from what Dean said, angels are the danger this week."

"True," Dean said, "but all you're going to do is give him a holy shower. You want to hurt him, you need holy oil, and no, I'm not telling you where we store that." Dean placed a hand on Kevin's chest and pushed him back so Castiel could enter.

As Castiel stepped into the room, the light from the overhead bulbs reached the blood on his shirt, throwing it into stark relief.

"Whoa," Kevin said. "What happened to you?"

"I was tortured," Castiel said simply, following Dean down the stairs and into the main room of the bunker. "Dean, what has happened? Where is Sam?"

Dean dropped down into a chair at the table and leaned his elbows on the polished wood, rubbing at his eyes. "I screwed up."

Kevin huffed a laugh. "Yeah, good luck with that. That's pretty much all he's saying. Well, that and the fact Sam isn't Sam and he's disappeared."

Castiel sat down opposite Dean and tried to school his features into something calm and reassuring. He had learned that if you were forceful with Dean, he would cease to talk altogether, and he needed to know what had happened.

"Dean," he said quietly.

Dean drew a deep breath and began to speak. "Remember when I told you Sam was dying…"

Castiel nodded. "I remember."

"I prayed to you, but you didn't, couldn't, answer."

"I was human."

"Yeah, I know, I remember," Dean said harshly, and Castiel knew he had somehow upset him. "Well, when you didn't answer, I put out an all parties prayer for help. This dick came and tried to get me to tell him where you were. I didn't know, so I couldn't tell him jack, and he got pissed. He was pounding on me when this other angel came—Ezekiel."

"But Ezekiel is dead," Castiel interjected.

"I know that now!" Dean snapped. "But I didn't know then. All I knew was that there were two angels, one saying he was going to kill me and the other saving my ass. I trusted the one doing the saving. I killed the dick that was trying to find you and then trapped Ezekiel, well, whoever the hell he is, in holy fire. He said he was hurt in the fall, but he would help me, and… dammit!" He scrubbed a hand over his face. "I thought I could trust him, so I let him out and took him to Sammy."

He paused for a moment. Castiel recognized the expression as Dean's one of pain. These memories were hurting him to share, and there was worse to come, such as where Sam was now.

"A lot of other crap happened," Dean said, and Castiel knew he was cutting to the chase so as not to prolong this painful retelling. "And Sam got worse, and Ezekiel got weaker 'cause of the warding. And Sam was really dying, like imminently, so I did what I had to do."

"What did you do, Dean?" Castiel asked, though he thought perhaps he knew the answer already; Kevin had said Sam wasn't Sam anymore.

"Zeke said the only way was to save Sam from the inside."

It was as Castiel had feared. Sam was possessed.

"He got me in Sam's head and… Sam was ready to go, Cas," Dean said. "Death was there and he was one step away from taking Sam out for good, no comebacks, and I had to do it. I had to!"

"What did you do?"

"I tricked Sam into saying yes to me, and the angel kinda slipped inside."

Castiel took a moment to absorb the knowledge and then he asked, "What did Sam say when he heard what you did?"

Dean looked down at the tabletop, unable to meet Castiel's eyes. "He doesn't know. The angel wiped it all from his head. Sam thinks he passed out at the chapel and woke up in the car a day later. Zeke's been hiding in him all this time, and Sam doesn't know."

"Dean…" Castiel started, the sting of disapproval in his tone.

Dean looked up and fury blazed in his eyes. "What would you have done, Cas? He was _dying_."

Castiel considered his answer carefully. It would have been easy for him to answer once upon a time. He would have let Sam die. But that was a long time ago, before he knew Sam as more than the abomination. Before he had shared time with the man and gotten to know him. Before he had the knowledge that Sam believed in second chances for everyone, no matter the crime, and before Sam had defended Castiel himself for his own crimes. Before Sam Winchester became his friend, his family, he would have let him die.

"I would perhaps have done the same thing," Castiel admitted. He shook his head. "I am sorry, Dean. I should have been there."

Dean nodded slowly and drew a deep breath."That's how it started anyway, and it was all good for a while; Zeke saved your life and then Charlie's and he was helping us out."

"And he was ensuring I wasn't too close," Castiel said, not altogether able to hide the accusation in his tone.

"Yeah, I guess. He said you'd draw other angels to us, which might have been true, but now I figure he was just worried you'd work out what I'd done and want to know who he really was. Either way, he made sure you weren't around much. Then today, he just left. He gave Kevin a piece of paper with his name on it and took off."

They sat in silence for a moment, and then Kevin spoke up. Castiel was surprised he'd been silent so long. "Okay, you screwed Sam over and let this angel in—to save his life apparently—but what's that got to do with me? Why am I a marked man now?"

Dean leaned back in his chair. "That, I don't know for sure, but I can guess. Like you said, Sam's been going out a lot lately. Only thing I can figure is that he's been pulled into the angel war somehow. I'm thinking maybe the note wasn't a kill order after all; maybe it was a shopping list. The big boss angels have gotta want a piece of you. You're the only one other than Metatron that's got a chance of reopening Heaven."

"I guess that's better than being on a kill list," Kevin said.

"I wouldn't be so sure," Castiel said, gesturing to his bloodstained shirt. "They are not willing to listen to reason, especially if they think you're lying to them."

Kevin swallowed thickly. "Okay. In that case, I'm heading to my warded-against-all-comers room. If you need me, I will be rocking in a corner."

"Uh, Kev," Dean started, and Kevin sighed.

"Fine, I'll be rocking in a corner and reading the tablet."

Dean nodded his satisfaction. "Good."

They watched Kevin go and Castiel turned to Dean. "You know, it could be an order to kill."

"I know, but I can't let him know that. Way I see it, it's one of two things. Kevin's either slated to die or be tortured. He's been tortured before, and he lived through it. It's better for him to be prepared for that than death. Though, as Sammy proved, Death ain't that scary after all."

"Dean," Castiel said softly, hearing the hurt in his voice and wanting to make it better for his friend.

"Don't want to talk about it, Cas."

Castiel nodded. "Okay. Let's talk about this angel then. Did he ever give you reason to think he was anyone other than Ezekiel? It would help us greatly to know who he is."

"No. Never. Though I'm hardly the best judge. All angels are pretty interchangeable to me."

Castiel tried not to be offended by that, but he didn't totally succeed. Oblivious, Dean got to his feet and walked to the cabinet where they stored the liquor.

"You want one?"

Castiel shook his head. He had enjoyed his first beer as a human, but it would be pointless to drink now. "I think I will look around a little. Maybe there is a clue somewhere…"

Dean huffed a laugh. "You think the dick left a note saying, 'Hey, I'm really Uriel brought back from the dead to kick your ass one last…" He froze with a glass halfway to his lips.

"It is not Uriel," Castiel said patiently. "He is dead."

"Lucifer," Dean breathed. "What if it's him?" Seeing Castiel's look of incomprehension, he went on. "The spell cast out the angels, right? What if they pulled them up as well as down? Damn, him and Michael could be back now."

Castiel shook his head. "No, Dean. Lucifer and Michael are still trapped. Neither is the type to hide quietly. If they were back, we would know it. Whoever it is that has Sam, it is not Lucifer."

Dean looked relieved. "That's something I guess."

"It is," Castiel said, getting to his feet and making for the hall that led to the bedrooms. Dean didn't follow, for which Castiel was grateful. He needed a little space from him and his sadness. It seemed to seep into Castiel, too, and that was not what he needed. He needed to detach himself from the emotion of what had happened, so he would be better able to help.

He plodded along the halls, coming to the room Sam used. The door was open, revealing an almost Spartan décor. The only thing that differentiated it from any of the other empty rooms in the hall was a scrap of paper on the bed. He crossed the room in long strides and snatched it up, calling to Dean as he read the short message.

_Dean, _

_I have done you another service. I would hope you'd be grateful, but I know you better than that. Keep the prophet safe. Keep the tablet from Metatron. You will not see me again, _

_Gadreel_

Castiel reeled from the shock. He never considered, never imagined, that it could be _him, _that _he_ could be freed. Heaven's jail was absolute; there was no escape, unless, apparently, someone was foolish enough to expel all the angels.

Gadreel, the ultimate betrayer, was in Sam!

Dean came bursting into the room, gun out and sweeping the corners of the room. "What?" he demanded.

Castiel held out the note and Dean read it quickly. "Gadreel? You heard of him?"

Castiel almost laughed. "All angels know of Gadreel."

"Not making it any better right now, Cas," Dean said. "Why'd you look so freaked? Is he Lucifer's second-in-command or something?"

"Gadreel was the angel charged with guarding the Garden of Eden. He was the one that let Lucifer in. He is the cause of everything: the apocalypse, the corruption of the archangels. He is the reason God left!"

"Shit," Dean breathed.

"And now, that… monster is in Sam," Castiel said.

"What's he going to do to him?" Dean asked, his tone steeped with stress.

"To Sam, nothing I imagine. He will keep Sam trapped within his own head until the end of time. Sam is a prime vessel. There is no way Gadreel will leave him now. He will run amok, causing damage and destruction wherever he goes, because that is what he does, and Sam will be a instrument for it all."

"Just like Lucifer," Dean breathed.

"No, Dean. This will be worse. Lucifer was kind to Sam; he let you live. Gadreel will show no such kindness." Another idea occurred to him and he felt a thrill of fear, which Dean did not miss.

"What?"

Castiel looked apologetic. "This is worse than when he was with Lucifer. Gadreel's identity is secret for now, but if it should be revealed, he will be in greater danger than ever before. I can think of no angel on earth now that wouldn't want him dead for his crimes. If it should ever become known that he is free, he would be a marked man."

Dean's hands fisted at his sides. "And Sam, what would the angels do to Sam?"

Castiel didn't answer. He didn't need to. Dean knew as well as Castiel did that no angel would have mercy on the vessel. If Gadreel's identity were revealed, Sam would be killed.

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><p><strong>So… Dean's fessed up to all and feeling mighty guilty. Poor Dean. <strong>

**Thanks for the response to the first chapter. I loved seeing the alerts and favorites emails filtering in and I was especially grateful for the reviews. If you enjoyed, please take a moment to review. It really does mean the world to me and I love to chat. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	3. Chapter 3

**Thank you ****Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me. You're a star. Also thanks to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom1 for holding my hand and helping me beat the ideas out.**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Three<strong>_

"_I __am__ curious, why Ezekiel?" _

"_They say he is a good, and honorable angel." _

"_Everything they say you are not. I see your point... Gadreel." _

"_The stories about me – they are not true!" _

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><p>Gadreel knew Kevin Tran.<p>

He watched him through Sam's eyes and learned the details of him. He knew he liked whisky but it made him sing badly. He knew that Sam always bought hotdogs for him when he went to the grocery store and Kevin ate them cold. He knew Kevin had given a lot to the cause, including his mother. He knew Kevin didn't deserve to die.

His choice to join Metatron in his mission to recreate Heaven with those deserving of it had not been made easily. He had considered every angle that related to the angels. He had even considered what it would mean for Sam Winchester. But he had not considered what it would mean for humans in general. He had not thought Metatron would order him to kill the prophet. Perhaps, if it had been any other person, he could have done it, for the greater good, but Kevin was chosen by God to receive The Word. How could killing him be the right thing? He could find no reason to do it.

Gadreel and Metatron had been chosen once, too. Metatron had taken down The Word, and he had used his knowledge to expel angels from their home. Gadreel had been sentry of The Garden, and he had failed in his task, causing God to cast him into prison for millennia. Neither Gadreel nor Metatron were fit to recreate a better Heaven.

After he came to that realization, he knew it was time for him to leave. Metatron would guess when Gadreel didn't go to him that Kevin Tran was still alive, that Gadreel had changed his mind. Though Metatron did not know the exact location of the bunker, he would come for Gadreel, and he would surely kill him in revenge. There were people who would be caught in the crossfire. Metatron was a full-powered angel, and Gadreel was weak in comparison. He would be no match for Metatron and unable protect others.

He packed some of Sam Winchester's clothes into a duffel and turned to leave the room. He paused on the threshold, considering. He owed Dean Winchester nothing; he had saved his brother's life, but he still felt he should warn him. What good was it if he left Kevin alive only for Metatron to smite the child when he was at the grocery store?

He scrawled a quick note to Dean, warning and advising him, and dropped it onto the bed, realizing as he did that he had signed it with his true name. He considered changing it for a moment, but decided against it. Castiel would surely be informed of what had happened, and he would know Gadreel's name. That alone was a warning to them. It might also serve to persuade him that it was foolish to attempt to follow when he left. Despite his endless sojourn in prison, Gadreel was still an angel to be reckoned with.

As he strode through the halls and into the main rooms of the bunker, he saw the prophet sitting at the table. "You guys heading out?" Kevin asked, sounding disappointed.

Gadreel looked at the boy and felt a surge of resentment toward him. It was his and Metatron's combined fault that Gadreel was to be ousted from this place.

"You okay?"

Gadreel shook his head as he walked toward the table. He realized he was still clutching the card Metatron had given him with Kevin's name on it in his fist, and he thought he should deliver it to its intended. It would serve to compound the warning.

He dropped it down and Kevin picked it up.

"What's this?" he asked as he smoothed out the paper.

Gadreel turned away and made for the hall the led to the garage.

"Hey!" Kevin called after him. "What's this and why do you have it?"

"It was an assignment," Gadreel said, unable to keep the bite of resentment from his tone. "It is now a warning."

"A warning for what?"

Gadreel ignored him; he could hear footsteps approaching and knew it would be Dean. He would not let Dean or Kevin delay him. He would put them both to sleep before that happened, but it would be easier for his weakened grace if he didn't need to. He hadn't been lying when he told Dean that he had been drained resurrecting Castiel and Charlie.

He strode through the hall to the garage. There was a wealth of vehicles on offer, the Impala being the most tempting of all. Gadreel knew what value Dean placed upon it, and it would be satisfying to drive along the highways in Dean's beloved car with his beloved brother trapped within it.

The bitter thought surprised him. Was he blaming Dean for what was happening? Perhaps. He had answered Dean's prayer after all, and when he had, his reasons had been altruistic. He had wanted to help someone, to start to atone. If he had not chosen such a prominent figure amongst the angels, someone as well known Sam Winchester, he could have perhaps been left alone to live in peace.

He shook his head and reviewed the other vehicles. They were all ostentatiously old, and would draw attention wherever he went. He chose the least likely to draw attention—the motorbike—and swung his leg over.

One of his more pleasing pastimes was to sift through Sam's memories while Sam was occupied with other less interesting pastimes—like eating and sleeping. The best memories, in Gadreel's opinion, were the old ones from Sam's time with Jessica at Stanford. The simple, human life he had lived fascinated Gadreel. One of those memories was a summer vacation Sam and Jessica had spent riding motorcycles around the coast. Gadreel had thought he would like to try the same one day, and now was his chance. He would make his escape and do something he'd never had the freedom to do in his endless life—live.

* * *

><p>He kept Sam locked away inside his own mind as he drove; Sam believed he was spending a quiet evening in the bunker with Dean and Kevin; perhaps the evening as it would have been if not for Gadreel's intervention. They watched a movie and ate Chinese take-out, and Sam was happy. It appeased his conscience slightly to have Sam comfortable. He wasn't cruel. He didn't want Sam to suffer. But he valued himself more than the human.<p>

When he came to a junction, he paused for a moment, deciding which way to turn. He had no clear idea of where he wanted to go; anywhere was better than the place he'd just left. He chose west without real consideration. He knew he should plan. He couldn't just drive forever. If nothing else, he would need to stop for gas sooner or later, and he had no idea how much cash Sam had in his wallet at the moment he'd come forth and taken over.

A couple hours outside of Lebanon, he came across a car accident and queue of cars behind it. He eased the bike along the side of the road, hearing the muttered curses of people trapped in their cars by the traffic. A cop saw him coming and raised a hand to stop him passing. Gadreel slowed down, unsure of how to deal with the situation.

"Sorry, buddy, you can't get through here," the cop said. "We need to keep the area clear."

Gadreel nodded and was about to turn around when his enhanced hearing caught the rumble of a familiar engine approaching from behind. Dean was catching up to him already, faster than he had thought. Gadreel felt a twinge of annoyance. He had made it clear that Kevin was in danger, but Dean had abandoned the young prophet to chase his brother.

He had a moment's indecision, caught between the need to get away from Dean and the need to keep a low profile; he quickly decided that Dean was the more pressing problem, and he gunned the engine. He swept the bike around the dumbfounded cop and passed the wrecked cars. Something stirred within him, some remnant of Sam perhaps, that made him think he should stop and aid the people hurt. But that would not be conducive to keeping a low profile, especially now that he had drawn attention to himself by defying the cop. He continued on past the accident and along the now empty lane.

* * *

><p>Metatron stood under the overpass, his hands clasped behind his back and his toes tapping the ground. He was feeling satisfied, almost smug with his success. Even now, Gadreel would be killing the prophet, and that last threat to his great plan would be obliterated.<p>

His way forward was mapped out clearly now. He and Gadreel would return to Heaven, he would allow Gadreel a little time to appreciate being home, to see what Metatron could offer, and then he would give him something more: Thaddeus.

Metatron had no need for the former guard of Heaven's jail, and allowing Gadreel to kill him would further cement him to Metatron's side. Besides, Metatron objected to Thaddeus' vessel's prominence among the humans. If there was someone worthy of adoration, it was Metatron himself, not that lip-syncing ignoramus.

And when Thaddeus was dead, Metatron would send Gadreel out to recruit. Angels must be told of what Metatron could offer them. He would take only the best, the brightest and most adoring angels, and he would lead them home. They could create a new Heaven with him at the helm. He would not be Metatron anymore, not the Scribe; he would be X. The angels needed him. They were like children grappling on Earth now; that was how Malachi and Bartholomew had gained forces. They needed someone to tell them what to do. A leader would bind them together.

He allowed himself a small chuckle as he imagined it all, each facet of his plan falling into place.

The minutes ticked on, and Metatron moved from his concealed place to look up at the stars. They were the closest the angels could come to home now. Well, the other angels; Metatron could go home whenever he wanted to. That was the beauty of being the man in charge.

As the minutes ticked into an hour, Metatron felt the first twinge of unease. It shouldn't be taking this long. Gadreel should have acted and returned already. What was the delay? It was possible that he had been hindered somehow. Perhaps Dean Winchester had gotten in the way. Metatron thought he'd made it clear that collateral damage in the form of Winchesters was okay, encouraged even. Sam was already lost to the cause. It wouldn't be the worst thing if Dean joined him. Though, now he thought about it, Metatron could think of a better use for Dean Winchester. Gadreel was superior to Metatron in only one way: his vessel. Sam Winchester was a strong and able body, Lucifer's own no less. Metatron's was weak and average looking. Even Castiel, human now at Metatron's own hand, had drawn eyes. The perfect use for Dean Winchester was as a vessel. Metatron could have Michael's own, handsome, strong and enduring. They would be the perfect team to rule. The only problem would be getting Dean's permission. There had to be a way.

Metatron stared up at the stars and plotted.

* * *

><p>When the sky began to lighten, Metatron was forced to accept the fact that Gadreel wasn't coming. He had been betrayed. Nothing, not even Dean Winchester could have delayed him this long. He had offered Gadreel everything he could possibly want—a way to redeem his name, home, freedom—and it had not been enough. Killing one human should not have been this much trouble for Gadreel, not in comparison to the reward.<p>

He felt his wings at his back, the signs of his superiority and power. His were still fine and beautiful compared to the other angels. He had heard them lamenting the loss of their great wings on angel radio. He had heard many things in fact—mourning and pain and confusion—and now he had an idea.

Gadreel was the great betrayer, known to all angels, and Sam Winchester was the man that had derailed the apocalypse by dragging Lucifer and Michael into the cage. They could not be more tempting targets for angelic wrath if they tried. Metatron would use that notoriety for his own ends.

He spread his wings and took flight for home.

The heaven he had chosen for his own was that of a devout college dean. There was an opulent library that Metatron had commandeered He set himself down there now and looked around. He had once had a bookshelf, and then it had become a library, and then things had progressed to a labyrinth of books in his Colorado hiding place. He had known, even then, that one day he would wreak revenge on those that had forced him into that place, and now that time had come. Expelling the angels wasn't enough. Killing Naomi didn't do it. It would not be enough until the angels bowed to him as their new god.

There were steps though, and just because his first attempt had failed, it didn't mean all was lost. He would avenge himself on Gadreel first, and then he would seek a new second, one that was deserving of his time, and perhaps a little more reverent.

He sat down in the chair behind the desk, steepled his hands under his chin, and then he began, addressing all angels on all channels.

"Rejoice, my family, for it is Metatron, and I am speaking to you at last. I bring with me a message, a warning, and a command that I know you will oblige me with accepting. My message is simple; be not afraid. There are some among you that will return home. The chosen will be recalled to Heaven so that we may prepare and create our new paradise within. My warning is this; not only the good were expelled. Among you are some who were imprisoned for their crimes, their abhorrent crimes. My family, the betrayer is free. Gadreel himself was cast out and is now living amongst you again in the guise of Sam Winchester." He paused for dramatic effect and to allow them to come to terms with that revelation. "And finally, my command. Kill him, my family. Do not allow him to live another day."

He sat back in his chair and listened to the voices crowding into his mind of the angels reacting and preparing, satisfied that Gadreel would not see the next sunset.

* * *

><p><strong>So… Who needs some Listerine to get the taste of Metatron's POV out of their mouth? I do. I knew his POV would need to be covered in this story, but I sure as hell didn't enjoy writing it. Hope you enjoyed the rest of the chapter though. <strong>

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks and squishy hugs to ****Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me and to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for helping me get my ideas onto the screen.**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Four<strong>_

"_Metatron lied. You finish this trial, you're dead, Sam." _

"_So?"_

* * *

><p><em>You kill an angel, its vessel dies, too.<em>

* * *

><p>Gadreel went north from Colby, choosing another road at random. It seemed to be the safest way to handle his route—keep it as random as possible.<p>

The fuel gauge pointed resolutely to empty when he reached Nebraska, and he was forced to stop. He felt disproportionately nervous as he pulled over at a gas station, scared that he would be revealed somehow as an interloper. He could sense no angels close, but the fear nagged at him. He had seen Dean and Sam complete the ritual of buying gas many times, but he was still unsure as opened the cap and began to fill the tank. It seemed to take a long time, too. He didn't stare at the meter as he worked; he looked up and down the road as he had seen Dean do. He wondered if Dean was even aware that he did it, raking the horizon for a sign of danger. It seemed to be the sort of thing that was ingrained, possibly from the Winchesters' unusual upbringing.

When the tank was finally full, he went inside and queued at the register. There was a young man behind the counter, yawning as he took the money from a middle-aged woman. When their transaction was complete, Gadreel stepped forward.

"Pump two, please," he said.

The man looked up and nodded, then his eyes widened comically. "Whoa, dude, nice bike."

Gadreel smiled slightly as he had seen Dean do when people complimented his Impala. "Thank you."

He stared in awe at the motorbike for a moment longer and then dragged his eyes away to complete the transaction. Gadreel handed over the requested total and turned to leave. He was almost at the door when he heard it, a voice invading his mind, a new, powerful voice, and Gadreel knew he wasn't alone in hearing it. Metatron was addressing all angels.

"_Rejoice, my family, for I am speaking to you at last…"_

Gadreel listened with mounting horror. His hand flew out to the wall to steady himself, he felt almost woozy with shock.

"Hey, buddy, you okay?"

'_Kill him, my family. Do not allow him to live another day,"_

Gadreel turned. "They are coming for me."

The man looked confused. "Who's coming? Do you need a doctor?"

Gadreel didn't answer. He yanked open the door and fled to the motorbike, throwing his leg over and seating himself firmly before gunning the engine. He had to go, he had to get away from this place, go somewhere safe. That was the problem though, with every angel in creation searching for him now, there was nowhere safe. He needed somewhere isolated and guarded. The bunker was the obvious option, but he could not go there without risking himself. Dean knew now that he had hijacked his brother, and he could not expect a warm reception. No, he needed somewhere else.

He searched Sam's memories, looking for somewhere, anywhere that Sam had felt safe. The first place that came to his mind was Bobby Singer's home, but that was a charred shell now. The panic room could still be accessible to him, but it was warded against angels, too many for Gadreel to bear. There was one other place, a cabin in the woods. It was not ideal, but it would suffice. It was better at least than a motel or remaining on the road. It would have to do.

He pulled onto the road and directed his path north, to Montana.

* * *

><p>The ride took many hours and one more stop for gas. Gadreel grew ever more nervous as he rode, as he could hear his name being bandied about on angel radio. There was one universal theme to the voices—shock. It seemed none of them imagined he would be freed. That was the problem. He had not been freed. He had not been given reprieve. He had been expelled by a sly trick, the same trick that cast them all out.<p>

It seemed laughable to Gadreel now that he had thought he would be allowed a chance to live free. He had not factored in Metatron's desire for obedience. He hadn't realized how he would react to being betrayed. The voice that had commanded Gadreel's death had not been angry though; it had been full of smug satisfaction. He had known Gadreel would hear it, too, and that had pleased him. He wanted Gadreel to know they were coming for him.

He had felt the presence of two other angels on the road, and though he had increased his pace, he had not become overly worried. The helmet he was forced to wear to pass unobtrusively among the humans concealed his face, and Sam Winchester's unusual height was not obvious on the bike. He thought he was safe for now, or as safe as he could be when fleeing thousands of angels without his wings.

When he came to Whitefish, he was tempted to slow down, to take a minute to appreciate the scenery of the mountains, God's infinite creation, but common sense kept him moving. He traveled through the city at his original speed, coming to the side road that led to the cabin that had once belonged to Rufus Turner.

It was small and weathered, stacked against the side of the mountain as if it had been grown rather than built by human hands. He stowed the bike at the side of the foundation and let himself into the cabin.

He felt the wards immediately, tugging on him and making him want to leave as he walked through the door, but they didn't stop him. Sam and Dean had warded the place against angelic sight and hearing but not presence. Even when they had doubted Castiel's loyalty and state of mind, they had not wanted to keep him out. Their loyalty to their friend was now to Gadreel's advantage.

He could stay here—concealed from angels' sight and hearing—indefinitely.

* * *

><p>Dean didn't know when he had fallen asleep, he didn't mean to, but the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake. "Sam?" he said drowsily.<p>

"He is not here," Castiel said.

The events of the previous day caught up to him and he groaned. Sam was gone—Gadreel had taken him over and disappeared. Kevin was either slated to die or be tortured by the angels.

He rubbed at his eyes and looked around the room. There was an open book on angel lore on the table that he had apparently been using as a pillow. There was another open book in front of Castiel's seat, but the angel wasn't sitting anymore; he was standing in front of Dean and his expression was taut with stress, more stress that had been there the last time Dean had looked.

"What's happened?" he asked, afraid of the answer. "Is it Sam?"

"Metatron has addressed us all on angel radio," Castiel said somberly.

"That's a first, right? He hasn't done that before."

"No, I have been listening since my downfall, and I have never heard his voice." He paused for a moment. "Dean, Sam is in terrible danger."

"Tell me something I don't know," Dean said harshly. He knew exactly how much danger Sam was in as he'd been the one to throw him in front of the train. It was his reckless choice that had screwed then all over.

"Metatron has revealed Gadreel's freedom and choice of vessel."

Dean sucked in a sharp breath. "You're kidding me."

"I wish I was. I heard his address. He has charged all angels with killing him. Dean, they are accepting the order."

"Why?" Dean asked. "Why would they want to kill Sammy? I get that we've pissed a few of them off with the whole diverting the apocalypse thing, but surely they're not all dicks."

"Gadreel is the betrayer," Castiel said. "He took what was pure and good and destroyed it. There cannot be an angel alive who would not want revenge on him for that. You must understand what life was like before, when we had God among us. It was good, the best times. We were dedicated to our purpose. Gadreel destroyed all that. They will kill him for his crimes."

"But that means…" Dean's voice was small and uncertain.

"Sam will die, too."

Dean closed his eyes. This was bad, so bad, so much worse than Sam being ridden around as a meat suit. At least then they had a chance of getting Gadreel out somehow. They'd been making a plan. But that would only work if Sam stayed alive. How could it have come to this? How could they have gone from being brothers—for the first time in a long time—to Sam being hijacked and on the run?

He sprang to his feet and swept an arm across the table, sending papers, books and glasses to the floor. "Dammit!" he bellowed.

Castiel stood back and allowed the hunter to vent his rage. He stormed up and down the room, overcome with self-loathing and anger. This, all this, was because of him. Sam was going to die and it was all his fault.

Kevin raced into the room, drawn by the sounds of Dean's wrath, and came to an abrupt halt beside Castiel. "What's happening?" he asked breathlessly.

"The angels are coming for Sam," Castiel said quietly. "Metatron has issued his death warrant on angel radio."

"Dammit, Cas!" Dean shouted. "Do you have to say it like that, like there's no chance for him? Like you don't even care."

"Of course I care," Castiel said angrily. "Sam is my friend, and I do not want to lose him either, but I do not see what we can do. There are thousands of angels and only three of us. One angel with stolen grace, one prophet, and—"

"One brother," Dean snarled. "Sam is my brother, and I'm gonna save him."

"How?" Castiel asked.

Dean turned away from him. He didn't know how; he just knew that he would.

"This isn't something that can be dealt away, Dean," Castiel said apologetically. "I cannot dive into Hell and retrieve him again. You cannot sell your soul. Even Crowley is useless in this instance."

"Hell… Souls…" Kevin took a deep breath. "Okay, when this is all over I'm going to need an explanation for all this, but how's about we start with one thing at a time. Sam's got this angel Gadreel in him, right, so he's got to be tuned into the same station. He'll know the angels are coming for him, and he'll know to hide. Sam's not stupid."

"Sam is not in control at the moment, Kevin," Castiel said.

"Yeah, but this Gadreel can't be dumb either. You angels are… well, angels. You've got all this knowledge and power. Surely he can keep his ass of their radar."

"The problem is that the other angels share that knowledge and power," Castiel said.

"No," Dean said quickly. "Kevin's right. Hell, Sam avoided Lucifer for a year; we both did. He's got the smarts and Gadreel has all that knowledge from Sam plus his own. He'll be fine." He almost laughed. It was true; it had to be true. Sam would be fine.

"Lucifer was one angel. There are thousands out there now."

Kevin cut Castiel off with a sharp look. "Let's try and focus on the positives here, okay?"

"Very well," Castiel said. "Sam has the means to escape notice. We just need to find somewhere protected for him to hide."

"What's wrong with here?" Kevin asked. "You said this was the safest place on Earth."

"You think we should invite the brother-hijacking dick back here for a slumber party?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Why not?" Kevin asked. "I don't want him here much either, apparently he was primed to kill or torture me, but if we're keeping Sam safe we have to keep him safe, too."

"Kevin is right," Castiel said. "This is the safest place for them to be."

Dean raked his hands through his hair in frustration, tugging the strands against his scalp. He wanted Sam safe, he wanted him back, but he didn't want that dick running around the bunker with Sam's face. He couldn't look at his brother and know it wasn't really him. He had suffered through that with Lucifer, as fists had pounded into him, and then again, when Sam was pulled out of the cage wrong. He hated to look at Sam knowing there was no connection there, no bond. It would hurt him to have to do that again, but he really didn't have any choice. Sam had to be kept safe until they could find a way to get Gadreel out. He had to stow away his own wants and needs and focus on the mission: saving Sam.

"How do we get him here?" he asked in a dead voice.

"We appeal to his survival instinct," Castiel said. "He surely heard the prayer as clearly as I did. He will know the angels are coming for him. One thing Gadreel has always been is a survivor. For him to sustain millennia of torture in Heaven's jail speaks of resilience. I suggest you call him and make the proposal. We will allow him safety here for as long as needed."

"As long as needed?" Kevin said. "We're going to just give him free rein of the bunker and hope he doesn't kill us? Kill me?"

"He defied those orders once," Castiel acknowledged. "I can only assume they came from Metatron, and he will not be here long. When he arrives, we will trap him, and find a way to free Sam. While you were both sleeping, I stumbled upon an idea."

"You think you can get him free?" Dean asked hopefully.

Castiel nodded. "It is dependent on various factors, Sam's state of healing for one, but I think I have a way to do it."

Dean nodded enthusiastically. "Okay, let's get to it then." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and pressed speed-dial one. The phone rang out and he groaned. "That's that plan screwed then. Can't get him here if he won't answer the damn phone."

Kevin and Castiel looked at him as if he was a little slow.

"What?"

"He's an angel, Dean," Kevin said patiently. "He doesn't do phones. You want to talk to him, you're going to have to pray."

"You expect me to pray to the dick-bag that kidnapped my brother!"

Kevin rolled his eyes. "Okay, go with your plan. Call him again. It's not like he can just turn the phone off. I guess if he does, you can go with something else. Write him a letter maybe, or send a telegram. Oh wait, you can't, 'cause you've no idea where he is. Stow it, Dean, and make with the praying."

Dean glared at Kevin for a moment, then turned to Castiel, searching for an ally. Castiel merely nodded calmly. Dean cursed and raised his eyes heavenward, accepting the ludicrousness of the gesture.

"Gadreel, we need to talk, so answer the damn phone, or I'll track you down and light up your ass with holy oil." He looked back at Kevin and grinned. "How's that for a prayer?"

Kevin looked unamused. "If your intention was to piss him off and make him less likely to help, you did—"

His words cut off as the phone began to ring in Dean's hand.

* * *

><p><strong>So… Gadreel is a wanted man and Dean is praying to the dick-bag that kidnapped Sam. Good times, right? For those of you that are getting impatient, we will hear from Sam in the next chapter. <strong>

**Thanks for the faves, alerts and reviews. You don't know how much they mean to me. I am currently working on C16 and it's a tough one, so each time I get disheartened I go to my reviews page and remind myself that there are people reading this and enjoying it so I have to keep going. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks, hugs and eternal gratitude to Jenjoremy, SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for all their help getting this chapter outlined, written, and polished up ready for you all.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Five<strong>_

"_You still able to cure things after the fall?" _

"_Yes, I should be, but... he's so weak." _

* * *

><p>The phone was irritating. It vibrated against Gadreel's hip, agitating him. He pulled it from his pocket and examined the caller-id. It was Dean, as he should have guessed it would be. It surprised him that Dean had taken this long for the idea to call to occur to him. The phone ceased its ringing and Gadreel breathed a sigh of relief.<p>

He settled back against the cushions of the dilapidated couch and closed his eyes, focusing on the angels' voices he could hear. His name was still being bandied about, and the tone was not comforting. It seemed to him that the angels who had not already chosen a side on which to fight were now united under a new mission: to find and kill him.

The idea that his family was hunting him now was appalling, but even he had to admit he would have felt the same in their position. He had heard whispers through the bars of his cell of everything that had befallen their kind after his mistake; the most horrifying was that God had left. Gadreel's beloved Father had left because of what he'd done. The news that Metatron had brought him, that it had hurt God to cast him away, was of little comfort. Sam Winchester thought he had things to atone for, but his crimes were nothing compared to Gadreel's.

"_Gadreel, we need to talk, so answer the damn phone, or I'll track you down and light up your ass with holy oil."_

The prayer was short and full of anger, but it was also exquisite. Gadreel had not heard a prayer directed to him like this in millennia. It was the most amazing thing to hear a voice calling to him.

He sat upright and took a deep breath. He cared not for the threat of holy oil, but the thought Dean might try to track him down was a problem. He thought he had made it clear that he was to keep Kevin safe. How did Dean think tracking him down was going to aid that? The man was infuriating.

Gadreel scrolled through the contacts, coming to rest on Dean's name. He didn't want to make the call, to encourage Dean, but it was the only chance he had to making Dean see that this was for the best. He pressed dial and held the phone to his ear, sitting upright and tensed.

"Gadreel?" the voice was full of loathing.

"Hello, Dean."

He heard Dean take a deep breath, possibly to calm himself. "We need to talk."

"Yes, we do. We need to talk about Kevin."

There was rustling on the other end of the call, and muffled voices. "What about him?"

Gadreel would have thought that was obvious. He had given the boy the note. He had told him it was a warning and assignment. What more did they need? "You need to keep him safe."

"Safe from who, you?"

"Metatron," Gadreel said patiently. "It was he that ordered me to kill the boy. It was he that was betrayed when I left Kevin alive. His anger is potent."

"Yeah, heard about that. Metatron has the angels coming for you now, which means they're coming for my brother, too. That is why we need to talk."

Gadreel sighed. "Your brother is as good as dead now anyway. I will not leave him. He belongs to me."

"You son of a bitch," Dean growled.

"It's not as bad as it seems. I have locked him inside his mind in a place of peace. He believes he is enjoying an evening in the bunker with Kevin and yourself. There is beer involved. I believe he is happy."

"No," Dean bit out. "He's not happy; he's tripping balls. He won't be happy until I get him back. And I'm gonna."

"And how do you intend to do that?" Gadreel asked. "You are human. I am not. Even the great Castiel is impotent now."

"That's where you're wrong. Cas got his mojo back. We're coming for you."

Gadreel's anger surged. This dependency between the Winchesters was going to kill Kevin. He had sacrificed everything, his home and his chance at freedom, for them and they were wasting it.

"Listen to me, Dean," he said. "The only thing you will achieve by coming for me is a wasted search. You cannot hope to find me, and even if by some miracle you did, you cannot force me out. The only person with the power to do that is Sam, and he is gone."

"I've heard that before, from Lucifer, and he was actually scary, unlike you. Sam beat him down and shoved his ass into the cage."

"Yes, he did, but that was before. Sam was strong then. He wanted to live. You remember what I showed you. Sam was ready to die. He has reached his limit and he is ready for some peace. That is what I have given him. He is as close to Heaven as he can get and he is happy. Think of him, Dean. Would he even want you to find him given that he is at peace now?"

"You don't know shit about my brother," Dean snarled. "He is a fighter. He doesn't want to—"

Gadreel spoke over him. "You forget, Dean, that I am inside Sam's mind as well as his body. I know what he thinks and believes." He sighed. "I refuse to continue this conversation. You know the truth in your heart, and you should let that guide you. Let Sam go and concentrate on what you must do for the people who still need your help. Keep Kevin safe. Keep yourself safe."

"I'm coming for you, you son of a bitch."

"Goodbye, Dean."

"I swear to God, I'm going to rip you out of him one atom at a time."

Gadreel ended the call and dropped the phone down onto the couch beside him.

Dean was exasperating. Why couldn't he see that Gadreel was right? Sam was happy with him now. How else did Dean explain the fact Sam had gone from ready and willing to die in that church to telling him he was happy with his life? It wasn't Dean's impassioned speech that had done it; it was Gadreel. Being a vessel had given Sam the first peace he had known in a long time, and Gadreel had perfected that by taking him over. It was better for Sam that way. Dean needed to let him go and concentrate on the people he could still help.

There was another option for Gadreel. He could leave Sam Winchester. He could find a new vessel and start again. He would not be nearly as easy to trace if he wasn't in Sam. It would mean a sacrifice, but as he had told Dean, Sam was ready for peace. Though he had healed Sam to some extent, it was not enough for Sam to survive long without him; the resurrection of Castiel and Charlie had undone most of his good work. It was not a tempting prospect. Gadreel had made a commitment to the Winchesters the moment he'd answered Dean's prayer. He had agreed to save Sam's life, and he wanted to do that in some form. He needed help. He needed Sam.

It was a risk, a huge one for Sam. He could expel Gadreel and die, or he could help. No one knew Dean better than his brother. If Gadreel was successful, he could gain a powerful ally in Kevin's protection, or he could fail in his determination to save a life, to redeem himself. At least it would be Sam's choice. Dean had made the choice for him before, more than once in fact. It was time Sam made that choice for himself.

Gadreel's decision was made. He would give Sam the chance to decide and from there he would be able to act. If Sam were to die, Gadreel would find a new vessel and start again. If Sam lived and allowed Gadreel to remain, they would work together to save Kevin.

He closed his eyes and slipped into Sam's mind. Seeing the perfect scene play out, appreciating Sam's laughter and knowing that he was the one that made it possible, he spoke.

"Hello, Sam."

* * *

><p>It was a quiet, normal evening, or as normal as life ever was for them. Sam was watching a movie with Dean and Kevin. They had eaten take-out, and now Sam was feeling content and full as he sat with his back against the headboard and legs stretched in front of him.<p>

"Dude, we need a cinema room," Dean said, apropos of nothing.

"Something wrong with my bedroom?" Sam asked with a raised eyebrow.

Dean paused the DVD and turned to Sam. "Nothing except the fact it's not a _bedroom_ yet."

"It's a room. It has a bed. What more could you want?" Sam asked. "Kev, back me up."

Kevin shook his head. "No can do. This isn't a bedroom. It's a dumping ground for laundry where you happen to sleep. Even my room's got more charm than this, and the only decorations in my room are the sigils on the walls. What's the deal with that anyway? Did Dean get all the homemaker genes in the family?"

Dean answered for him. "It's not his _home._ Apparently Sammy doesn't want a home anymore."

"Yeah, because every time I tried, it went to shit."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Which obviously means you stop trying. You think I've not had crappy home memories, too? I had Lawrence, which burned, then Lisa's, which bummed out. But you don't see me pouting and refusing to settle, do you."

"About that cinema room," Sam said, eager to change to topic. "Where shall we put it?"

Dean stretched his arms over his head. "Anywhere we have more than one chair to crash on. No offence, dude, but you and Kevin snuggling on the bed doesn't look too comfy."

"We're not snuggling!" Kevin said, gesturing between them. "He's like a foot away from me!"

Dean laughed raucously and Sam grinned.

"Yeah, but I've seen you scooting closer," Dean said.

Kevin threw a handful of popcorn at him and Dean tried to catch it in his mouth. He caught one kernel and then proceeded to choke on it. Sam laughed as he thumped Dean on the back.

"Okay," Dean said, sounding a little hoarse. "Who wants a drink?"

Sam and Kevin raised a hand.

Dean locked eyes with Kevin. "Okay, but you're sticking to beer, Menzel."

Sam curled in on himself laughing. "How do you even know who that is?"

"Dude, _Let it Go _invaded the planet. I'm pretty sure Cas even knows who she is."

Kevin gave Dean a sly grin and started humming the chorus.

"No beer for you!" Dean pointed at Kevin. "For that, you get a juice box!"

"What!" Kevin squawked.

Dean laughed as he walked from the room.

"Don't worry," Sam said as Kevin grumbled. "We don't have any juice boxes."

"You think he won't go out and buy one especially?" Kevin snorted. "Have you met Dean?"

Sam chuckled.

Kevin reached over and snagged the remote. "Think he'll notice if I start it playing again?"

"Do I think he'll notice if he leaves in the middle of a shootout and comes back to Cage disassembling another missile? Yeah, Kev, I think he'll notice."

Kevin sighed. "Dammit."

Sam laughed at his disappointed expression. He leaned his head back and smiled. When not tripping on pep pills and sleep-deprived, Kevin was a lot of fun to have around.

"Hello, Sam."

Sam's head snapped up and he sucked in a breath of shock. There was a man standing against the wall. He was tall, with short, cropped hair and an angular jaw. He was wearing a layered hoodie and leather jacket. His stance was calm, not passive, but more like he was confident in his abilities and wasn't afraid of Sam.

"Dean!" Sam reached over Kevin and grabbed his gun from the bedside table. Clutching it in one hand, he used the other to vault him from the bed and stand protectively in front of Kevin.

"How the hell did you get in here?"

"Here is not really here," the man said cryptically.

"Dean!" Sam bellowed. What was taking him so long? Sam's stress was obvious in his voice. Dean should have been there already, gun out and ready to beat down.

The man looked a little amused. "Dean cannot help you now."

Sam sneered. "You don't know my brother."

"I do," he said serenely.

Sam felt a sick twist of fear. Had this man done something to Dean? Was he trapped somewhere in the bunker, bleeding, hurting, or was he already…

He shook his head. No, Dean was fine.

Sam realized Kevin had been silent all this time. He took a couple steps to the left, keeping his gun trained on the intruder, and chanced a glance to the side. Kevin was sitting on the bed, still tossing popcorn into the air and catching it in his mouth. With each bite caught, he would turn to the side and grin at no one.

"Walk with me," the man said.

"I'm going anywhere with you."

He looked amused. "Very well, let's talk here. Sam, I need your help."

"Sure, I'll help you, just as soon as you tell me how the hell you got in here and what you've done to my brother."

The man muttered something that sounded like '_Winchesters, co-dependent to the last.'_ He sighed. "Very well. Here is Dean."

Dean sauntered into the room, clutching three beers. He handed one to Kevin and said, "I'm giving you one as you've already torn through the juice boxes, but you start singing, we'll switch you to milk. Ain't that right, Sammy?"

Sam watched, stunned, as Dean sank down on his chair and popped open his bottle of beer, showing no outward sign that he could see the stranger standing in the room or Sam's drawn gun. Whatever Sam was seeing, whatever was happening, Kevin and Dean were either oblivious or a part of it.

"I can see this is going to take some time," Gadreel said. "Let me simplify." He looked pointedly at Dean and Kevin and they disappeared. One moment they were there, slugging beer and crunching popcorn, and the next they were gone.

"What the hell!" Sam gasped. "What did you do to them?"

"I did nothing. They aren't really here; they never were. They were an illusion that I created. I realized they were distracting you from the truth, so I removed them. Sam, I need you to listen to me."

An illusion. Sam had known someone who had trapped him in an illusion before—a crazy TV land. "Gabriel?" he said tentatively.

The man shook his head. "No, I am not Gabriel, though you are half right. I am an angel."

"Lucifer!" Sam spat.

Once again, the man shook his head, looking frustrated this time. "No, Sam. I am not an archangel. I am a mere seraph. My name is Gadreel."

Sam shook his head. "No dice. If you're not an archangel, how do you have the juice to be creating crap for me? Not even Cas can do that."

"I have not created a false reality out of nothing. I have merely created a place within your mind for you to enjoy."

Sam shook his head jerkily. "No, you can't have. You'd have to be…" He trailed off, the thought too horrible to imagine.

"I would have to already be in your mind," the angel said. He looked tense for a moment, as if bracing himself for something unpleasant. "Sam, I _am_ in your mind. I am in your body. You are my vessel."

Sam stepped back, his legs hitting the side of the bed. "No." He meant it to come out strong and powerful, but it came as almost a whisper.

"Yes," the angel said. "I am in you, Sam, and I need your help."

"No," Sam hissed. "What you need to do is get out of me!"

He felt it coming, the way it had when he'd overpowered Lucifer. The return of sensation to his arms and hands. And—how had he not noticed it before–the clearing of his mind. The bedroom faded away and was replaced with rough wooden walls. The scent of popcorn and beer changed to a musty stale scent.

"Sam, don't do this," an echoing voice said.

"Get. Out. Of. Me!" Sam bellowed, and then he felt it, like being torn inside out, the angel leaving him. His head flew back and blue-white light flooded in front of his eyes.

He felt weakened and lightheaded. Even though the light remained, ebbing and flowing in the room, Sam's eyes darkened. His legs knuckled and he dropped to his knees. The momentum carried him down to lie on his stomach, and he found he didn't have the energy to push himself up again. His limbs felt heavy and disconnected.

"What's happening?" he asked in a slurred voice. "Dean?"

There was no answer, no hand on his back or comforting voice. He was alone and in pain. His every bone seemed to ache. His chest and gut seared as if burning. Sticky warmth pooled in his mouth and he spat blood onto the rough wooden floor.

"Dean?" It was a plea now, a call for help against what Dean could not cure.

"He cannot come," a voice answered; it was light, like a breath on his cheek, and pitched high. "He is not here."

But Dean was always there. Always. He never left Sam. Even when Lucifer had been beating him bloody, Dean had stayed for Sam.

"Dean. Please."

"You are dying, Sam," the voice said. "Let me in."

"No," Sam breathed. It was better to die that be possessed.

"Let me in and I will save you."

"No."

"Let me in and I will save your brother."

"Where is he?" Even as he spoke, Sam's eyes drifted shut and he found he did not have the strength to open them again.

"He is in trouble," the voice said. "Let me in. He needs you, Sam. Say yes, and I will save him."

With the last of his reserves of strength, even as he could feel Death's clutches grasping for him, Sam breathed, "Yes."

* * *

><p><strong>So… Sammy is back to being a piñata for an angel and Dean's temper kicked a hole in the 'keep Sammy safe and Gadreel close' plan. Poor things. I would love to say the torment I heap on the boys will only last so long, but I don't like to lie. Things are going to get a whole lot angstier before the end. <strong>

**Thanks for the reviews and PMs. I love hearing from you. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to Jenjoremy for beta'ing and knowing what I needed to say when I couldn't find the words myself. Also Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for helping me get the idea in order. This story would be nothing without those ladies.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Six<strong>_

* * *

><p>"<em>Sam will never say yes – not to you."<em>

"_But he would say yes to you."_

* * *

><p>When Sam opened his eyes, he was in the bunker again, or his mind's version of it at least. He was lying on his back and staring at the high ceiling. He struggled to his feet and raked the room with his eyes.<p>

"Dean!"

"He's not here," a serene voice said.

Sam turned and saw the angel standing at the top of the small flight of stairs.

"Where is he?" Sam asked fervently.

"Kansas, I imagine. That is where he should be, keeping safe in the bunker, but I have known him long enough to doubt that now. He is probably riding the highways, searching for you."

Sam's chest heaved with stress. "Looking for me? I thought you said he was in trouble, goddammit!"

"He is in trouble, just not imminently. We have time to act. But first, we need to talk."

"What kind of trouble?"

The angel clicked his tongue. "You know, with the way you two obsess over the safety of each other, it's a wonder that anyone else ever gets helped. Very well, I will tell you. I can see I will get no help from you until I do, but to understand what's happening now, you must understand what happened before. Would you like to sit down?"

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. "No, thanks."

The angel eyed him for a moment, possibly deciding whether to force the issue, and then he seemed to decide against as he started to speak. "For me, it started with a prayer. Your brother was driven to pray for help, and I answered."

"How did he know who you were?" Sam asked. "I've never heard of you; all the angels I've ever met are dead or human."

"It was not directed to me. It was an open prayer. Every angel in creation heard it. That was the depth of Dean's desperation. He felt he had no other choice."

"What happened to him?" Sam asked quietly. He was awed at the thought of Dean being that deep into something that he would risk openly calling angels.

"You happened, Sam. You were dying."

And there it was. Sam shouldn't have been so shocked. He shouldn't have felt his guts twisting with horror at Dean's suffering. Of course he had prayed. It was Dean. He had given everything for Sam before, including his life. It should have been no surprise that he would do it again.

Oblivious to Sam's distraction, the angel went on. "I came to the source of the prayer, a hospital in New York, and found your brother. The doctors had told him that there was no hope, nothing more medicine could do. You were in a coma. Dean wanted me to heal you."

"But you got inside and mind-fucked me instead," Sam said bitterly.

The angel had the grace to look away as he answered. "I did what I had to do."

"Why though?" Sam asked. "I get that you answered the prayer and all, but why did you have to use me. If you came to the hospital, you obviously had a vessel already, so why take me? Why not just heal me and leave?"

"That was my intent at first." There was an echo of pain in the angel's voice. "I was committed to helping you, and I would have, but other angels came, angels that would harm you and Dean"—he considered for a moment—"and me."

"Because you were helping us?"

"Because of who I am. The vessel I had was strong and would sustain me, but I needed a place that angels would not think to look for me, and where better than inside of a hunter, a Winchester? Any angel that I came into contact with would want to know who I was, so I hid. When I was not in control of you, I could slip among the humans unnoticed. I did what I had to do to save us both, Sam."

Sam absorbed it all, trying to make sense of the situation. There was one thing he didn't understand though. "How did you get my consent if I was in a coma? Hell, even dying I wouldn't say yes to an angel, so how did you do it?"

"You are correct, you would not say yes to an angel…but you would say yes to your brother."

Sam shook his head. "That makes no sense. Me saying yes to Dean wouldn't let you in."

The angel looked reluctant as he said, "You must remember, Sam. It is the only way. Look inside and you will see."

Sam shook his head, not wanting to see, scared of what he would see.

The angel stepped forward and pressed two fingers to Sam's temple. "Remember, Sam!" It was an order, and against his will, Sam felt the images crowding his mind. Things he had seen with his own eyes and things the angel had seen, forced their way into him.

He saw himself lying on a hospital bed, silent and unmoving. He saw Dean walking beside him outside a hospital. He heard the angel telling Dean he could remove all memory of what had happened. He was bowed over a demon's corpse, pulling the bloodied knife from its throat. Castiel was boneless in a chair and Sam was laying a hand over a deep wound, saving him. Charlie was dead on the bed, and Sam was pressing fingers to her forehead. The images kept on coming, conversations with Dean that Sam had no memory of, Sam healing his own cut throat, more and more. Sam standing in front of Metatron and being handed a slip of paper.

"Stop!" Sam groaned, attempting to pull away from the angel.

"One more."

Sam was in a cabin. There was a roaring fire in the hearth and Sam was on his feet, preparing to follow Death through the door, and Sam _wanted _to go. There was light streaming through the windows and around the door, and it was calling to Sam, telling him to let go. Then Dean was there, impassioned and desperate, and what could Sam do but say yes?

Sam staggered back from the angel, panting. "He tricked me. It was Dean; he made me say yes."

"Can you blame him?" the angel asked. "You were dying."

"I was _ready!"_ Sam shouted. "I was done!"

"He wasn't."

Sam shook his head. "That's not the point."

"Not for you perhaps." The angel looked at Sam with sympathy. "For Dean, it was everything."

Sam raked his hands through his hair. He was pissed, beyond pissed. Dean, who he trusted above all others, had stolen his will. He had known Sam's choice; it couldn't have been clearer to him, but he had made him stay. Dean had taken that peace away from him.

"Now, you know," the angel said. "You understand the depths Dean went to in order to save you again. It is time for you to return the favor, Sam. Dean and Kevin need you."

Sam forced back the anger and resentment and nodded. "What's happened to them?"

"Metatron. He wants Kevin dead, and as such Dean is at risk, too. He will stop at nothing to achieve his ends, and if that means killing Dean, so much the better for him."

"So we have to kill Metatron?"

"Ultimately, yes, but not yet. We are not in a position to kill him yet; we are not strong enough, and I am not suicidal."

"Neither am I," Sam said defensively.

The angel raised an eyebrow.

"There's a difference between being ready to die and wanting to die," Sam bit out.

"If you say so. The point is that Dean and Kevin are in danger, and we need to protect them. We are already doing that partially by staying away from them, but I believe Dean will put himself at risk searching for you."

"How is us being away helping?" Sam asked. "We'd be better if we were fighting together."

The angel looked him in the eye. "Perhaps we would be in any other circumstances, but we are marked men, Sam. All angels are searching for us now."

"Why?" Sam asked.

"Because of who I am. I betrayed Metatron by not killing Kevin when I was ordered to, so he addressed all angels and told them who I really am."

"And who are you really?" Sam asked.

"That is a story for another time." The angel shook his head. "What is important now is that we stay away from Dean and keep him protected. You know him better that anyone. How would you stop him looking?"

Sam huffed a laugh. "He was so determined to keep me around that he got me mind-fucked by an angel. Do you really think there's a way to keep him away after that?"

"It has happened before though. I have seen it. Dean let you go when you encountered War in Colorado, and then he let you take Lucifer down to the cage. How did you persuade him to do that?"

Sam considered. "The first time was because he was so damn pissed at me it was easier for him to not look at me. The second was because there was no other choice. I had to take Lucifer down or we'd all die, and by we, I mean the world. Also, I think Bobby might have had something to do with that."

"Mr. Singer is dead," the angel said.

"No shit," Sam said, not without a twinge of hurt.

"But you are alive. You must be the one to make Dean see. You said he was angry before. He was angry when I called him, perhaps–"

"Hang on," Sam said, raising his hands. "You called him on the phone?"

"I was trying to help him, to make him see that Kevin was the priority."

"My whole head full of memories and you couldn't see that was a bad idea!" Sam said incredulously. "You've got to turn off the GPS. Hell, he could be halfway here already."

"How do I do that?" the angel asked.

"Head full of memories, remember? Just look."

"I will return," the angel vowed and then disappeared.

Sam walked the length of the room, trying to make sense of everything he had seen and heard. It seemed crazy to him that he was currently trapped in his own head by an angel who may or may not be evil. He had no choice but to trust though, as he would apparently die without him. He wasn't afraid of death, but he was afraid of failing. He couldn't do a thing to help Dean and Kevin if he wasn't alive.

He picked up a book from the shelf and flipped it open. The pages were blank, reminding Sam that this wasn't the real bunker, just a good facsimile. He dropped it down again and sighed. He wasn't there to read anyway. He was supposed to be finding a way to protect Dean. He was sure that if Sam believed there was no way to help, he would return to protecting Kevin, but how was he supposed to make him see that?

He thought Gadreel was right; he had to piss Dean off, make him so mad he stopped caring. Not an easy goal when your brother had clean-slated an apocalypse, but maybe it was doable.

The angel appeared again and Sam looked up. "I have turned the GPS off."

"Good," Sam said. "But that doesn't help if he's already checked it."

"Do you think we should move on?"

"No," Sam said slowly. "I think we need to let him come, and then you need to let me out."

The angel nodded. "I can do that. I can let you have control like I did for the majority of the time I have been inside you."

"No," Sam shook his head. "That won't work. Dean has to be 100% sure it's me doing the talking and not just you pretending to be me. You have to actually get out."

"If I leave, Sam, you will die."

"Can't you do something that'll last a little longer than a few minutes?" Sam asked. "You telling me you were doing a bang-up job of healing me when you didn't really want to leave?"

The angel looked thoughtful. "I suppose I could leave enough to sustain you for a little while. To what ends though? And how do I know you will let me in again?"

"Because I let you in once already, and I told you, I'm not suicidal. Leave enough of whatever to keep me going an hour or so, and I'll do the rest."

"What are you going to do?" the angel asked.

Sam smiled grimly. "I've got a plan."

* * *

><p>Metatron stood on the corner and watched the angel work. He was standing beside the stationary car, with his eyes fixed on the meter. Suddenly, he sprang forward, smiling widely, and began filling out the ticket. Metatron sighed heavily. This was beyond pathetic. A warrior of God reduced to this. Not that Ezra had ever been a mighty warrior, he was strictly typing pool material, but the potential was there. He was one of God's chosen, and now he was a Meter Maid!<p>

He stepped away from the wall and walked towards the angel, clearing his throat. "Hello, Ezra."

Predictably, Ezra froze in place, staring determinedly at the ticket in his hand.

"By all means, finish," Metatron said. "I know how these things matter."

Ezra snapped the ticket under the wiper-blade and turn to face Metatron. "Umm… hello… brother?"

Metatron sighed. "There is no need to be nervous, Ezra. I am not here to kill you."

He swallowed thickly. "Then, sir, why are you here?"

Metatron liked being called sir. It was not as appealing as God or X, but it would suffice for now. "There is something I need to ask you."

Ezra raised his hands in front of him as if warding off an attack. "I haven't seen him, sir. I swear."

Metatron looked politely interested. "Who?"

"Gadreel. I heard you; we all heard you, but I haven't seen any sign of him." He seemed to find confidence from somewhere as he puffed up his chest. "He would be dead already if I had."

Metatron smiled benevolently. "I know. I am not here for the betrayer. I am here for you."

Ezra looked horrified. "What have I done?

"I am not here to punish. I am here to make you an offer. I need help, Ezra, and I believe you are just the angel I need."

Metatron had given it serious thought. He understood his mistake with Gadreel now. He had chosen someone too given to independent thought. Gadreel had also spent too much time with the humans. He had been infected with Sam Winchester's humanity after residing in him for so long. Ezra had been in a vessel an equal amount of time, of course, but Metatron didn't think he would have become tainted. For all his negatives, he was an angel first and foremost, and he would accept orders. Gadreel had never been good with orders.

"What do I need to do?" Ezra asked.

"Join me. I am going to rebuild Heaven from scratch. I will choose the best and brightest angels to come with me, and I need a second-in-command, someone not afraid of doing the difficult thing and capable of independent thought."

Neither of those qualities was ingrained in Ezra, but Metatron thought with the right mentor and motivation, they could be. Even if they weren't, he would provide a good subordinate for praise. His use of the word sir was an example of his exceptional good taste.

Ezra preened. "I would be happy to help, of course, Metatron."

Metatron cleared his throat. "I think we should stick with _Sir _for now."

Ezra nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, sir. My apologies." He looked awkward for a moment. "But, _Sir, _how are we going to do this? You have to know Malachi and Bartholomew are searching for you."

"That would be a problem if I was an ordinary angel," Metatron said. "But that will not be the case for long." He tugged on the cord around his neck and pulled out the small vial brimming with grace. "Soon, I will be so much more. You could almost say I will be twice the angel I was before."

* * *

><p><strong>So… Sammy's got a plan. There's no way this can end badly, right? Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter. I've been a little under the weather lately, and hearing from you all made me feel a lot better.<strong>

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	7. Chapter 7

**Thanks to Jenjoremy for beta'ing and to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all their help, especially for not killing me when they read it. **

**I am going to ask you all to trust me with this. I do have a plan and I will bring the brothers together again, but there are twists and turns to come before that moment. If you've read any of my other stories, you should know I make good on promises.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Seven<strong>_

* * *

><p>"<em>You thought I couldn't handle something, so you took over!"<em>

"_No, I did what I had to do! You would've never agreed to it, and you would've died."_

"_Well, maybe I would've liked the choice, at least." _

* * *

><p>"Goodbye, Dean." The voice was painfully familiar but so wrong. It was Sam but not.<p>

Dean spoke through gritted teeth. "I swear to God, I'm going to rip you out of him one atom at a time."

The only reply was the dull hum of a disconnected call. Dean cursed and dropped the phone back onto the table. He could feel Kevin's and Castiel's eyes on him as he made a pass up the room, hands in his hair.

"So," Kevin said airily, after a full minute of pacing, "are we going to talk about it?"

"About what?" Dean snapped.

"I believe Kevin is referring to the failure that was that telephone call," Castiel said dryly.

"Did you even hear him?" Dean asked. "He said Sam was as good as dead. Can you blame me for losing it a little?

"He's a dick," Kevin said. "No question. But he's the dick that's got Sam."

"You think I don't know that?"

Castiel looked impatient. "Of course you know, just as you know that Sam may be more than 'as good as' dead now that we have lost any chance at bringing him here, to safety. How are we going to find him now?"

An idea occurred to Dean and he crossed to the laptop with long strides. He opened the appropriate webpage and began to type in the details.

"You really think he's going to be dumb enough to leave GPS on?" Kevin asked.

"He was dumb enough to betray me and kidnap my brother. That's pretty damn dumb." Dean clicked search and the map appeared on the screen. "Yatzee! That's my dumbass angel."

"Where is he?" Castiel asked.

"Montana," Dean said. "He's... I'll be damned. He's gone to Rufus' cabin."

"The one with the sex torture dungeon you took me to?" Kevin asked.

"It wasn't a…" Dean shook his head. "Yeah, Kev. That one."

Dean snatched the car keys from the side-table and made for the hall, then turned and pointed at Kevin. "You, get translating. I want to know anything about getting an angel out of a human without… hurting the human." He looked at Castiel. "And you… you keep him inside this bunker. I don't care what happens, Cas. I don't care who comes; your job is to protect him."

"I would be better able to assist if I was to come with you," Castiel said.

"I can take care of myself," Dean said.

"Dean," Kevin said tentatively. "What are you going to do? How are you going to face off with an angel?"

"I'm gonna make him see the error of his ways," Dean said grimly.

Kevin raised an eyebrow as Dean walked away, but Dean didn't stop to explain. He had an idea. He needed to get through to Sam, to make him take control and cast the angel out. It had happened once before, Sam had taken control of Lucifer, though it had nearly been too late, almost costing Dean his life. Whatever it was between Sam and Dean, love, brotherhood, mutual trust, he was going to use it. If Sam thought Dean was in danger again, he would save him, he was sure. He just needed to get Gadreel pissed enough. That shouldn't be too hard. Dean had a plan.

* * *

><p>The drive to the cabin took too long, much too long. Dean was exhausted by the time he drove across the state line. As he approached Whitefish, however, his exhaustion gave way to adrenaline. He was wired and ready. He was going to get the angel out of his brother or die trying.<p>

He wound the Impala up the dirt track that led to the cabin, heart pounding and breaths shallow. He was thinking of all the times he'd made the journey before. This was the place he'd gone when he'd come out of Purgatory. This was the place he'd found out that Sam didn't look for him. This was the place his absolute certainty in his brother had been shaken to the core. He didn't worry about that now though. He had made Sam a vow in that abandoned chapel—both of them till the end—and he had seen the same return in Sam's eyes. He would not leave Dean to face this angel alone. Sam just had to see Dean needed him, and he would do the rest.

As he made the last turn that brought him to the entrance of the cabin, he saw something to make his teeth grit. Gadreel was standing on the porch, looking completely at ease, untroubled as he looked at Dean.

Dean eased down on the brake and cut the engine. He took a deep, steadying breath and climbed out of the car.

"Hello, Dean," Gadreel said.

Dean's hands fisted at his sides.

"We've been expecting you."

Dean faltered. Was there _another_ angel here? Was he about to face Metatron, too? It would screw his whole plan to hell, though he would still get the beating he was expecting.

"Who's we?" he asked belligerently.

"Sam and myself, of course."

Dean felt a shudder work its way up his spine. This dick, this… thing, was talking like Sam was a part of this. Sam wasn't there, couldn't really be there, because if he was, he would be casting Gadreel the hell out.

Dean reached into his jacket and pulled the long angel blade out. He brandished it at Gadreel. "I was expecting you, too."

Gadreel laughed. "You expect to me to believe you're here to kill me? Really, Dean, you could not do that to your brother, no matter how much you hate me."

The angel was right about one thing. Dean wouldn't, couldn't, kill Sam, but he could hurt him enough to get through to him. He just needed to get Gadreel pissed enough to fight back and it'd work.

"Let's find out," he said.

Gadreel shook his head and looked at Dean with something like pity. "By all means, give it your best shot." He walked down the steps and came to a stop in front of Dean, then raised his arms at his sides.

Dean gripped the handle of the angel blade tight in his fist. This was for Sam, all for Sam. He had no choice. He raised it, hating the way his hand shook, and pressed the tip of the blade to Gadreel's throat. "Get out of him!" he snarled.

Gadreel leaned into the blade infinitesimally, just enough to break the skin and draw a trickle of blood, Sam's blood.

That was the end of that plan.

Dean had thought that if he could hurt Gadreel, make him angry enough to fight back, he could reach Sam. Dean pulled back the blade before Gadreel could impale himself and Sam upon it in some kamikaze gesture—Dean would put nothing past him.

"This isn't working out how you planned, is it?" Gadreel asked, sounding amused. "I know your history, Dean. I am not going to make Lucifer's mistake."

"Just…" Dean breathed out a shaky breath. "Give me my brother back."

Gadreel stared at him for a moment and then nodded. "Very well, Dean, but remember, when you are faced with the consequences, that this was your choice."

Dean's heart seemed to relocate to his throat. He had all of a second to wonder if Gadreel was saying what he thought, what he hoped, he was saying, before his vision was occluded by blue-white light and a high-pitched whine reached his ears. His arm came up to cover his face and he stumbled back a few paces.

The whine died down and heard a thud as something heavy hit the ground and a muffled curse. He lowered his arm slowly and then froze in place. The blue-white light was formed into smoke. It did not pulse and funnel like a demon's, it rippled and streams of smoke reached out as if feeling the air. That was an astonishing sight, but what drew Dean's eyes was his brother. Sam was on his knees, hands pressed into the dirt, and he was panting.

"Sam?" Dean said tentatively.

Sam looked up. "Yeah."

Dean crossed to him in two strides and dropped down beside him, one hand coming to rest on his back and the other reached for Sam's chin, to turn his face. Sam turned his head away and spat. Dean's heart clenched as he saw the blood land on the dirt.

"Shit, Sammy," he breathed. "You okay?"

Sam turned to look at him and Dean pulled back instinctively. He had known there was a chance it would be bad, for Sam to be messed up still, and he'd almost prepared himself for that, but he hadn't been ready for _this_! Sam was looking at him with… Could it possibly be hatred?

"Sam, it's me," he said, leaning back on his haunches and raising his hands. "Dean."

Sam nodded. "I know." He got to his feet, leaning heavily on his knees before straightening. "I know it's you."

Then what the hell was wrong? He was glaring at Dean, his expression twisted into something Dean hadn't seen since… He didn't know how long it had been. Sam had never looked at Crowley like this, and he was the one that had killed Sarah. He'd not even looked at Dick Roman like this, and he'd killed _Bobby_!

"What's wrong?" he asked tentatively.

Sam turned away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Dean noticed the smear of red on the skin when he dropped it back to his side. Sam was really hurt.

Dean realized he was still kneeling, so he got gracelessly to his feet. "Look, I know you've probably got a lot of questions, but we need to stow it for now and get you some help," he said, worry overcoming confusion.

"Help," Sam said thoughtfully. "What kind of help are you thinking this time, Dean? Another psychotic angel perhaps?"

Dean's heart, until then lodged in his throat, sank. "You know."

Sam turned back to face Dean, his shoulders tensed and his hands fisted. They were not what worried Dean though. It was the ashen color of Sam's skin and the slight tremble in his limbs that scared him.

"I know what you did," he snarled. "I know you had me mind-fucked by an angel. I know you let that… thing in me! I know you lied to me for _months. _All the times I suspected something, questioned you, you brushed it away with crap about the trials wearing me down and recovering from that." His voice became dangerously low. "I know you crapped on what _I _wanted for _myself_ and kept me chained to this rock."

"I saved you," Dean said quietly.

"No, Dean, you saved _you_! You were so hung up on what you wanted, you didn't think, even for a minute, that maybe I could decide for myself."

"You would have died!"

"It would have been my choice!" Sam bellowed, and then he began to cough, heaving coughs that shook him and spattered his hand with bloody spit.

"Sam," Dean said, starting forward to help, but Sam held up a hand to keep him at bay.

"I would've had Heaven!" he said hoarsely when the coughs had tapered away. "I would have had peace."

Dean felt like he was being kicked in the gut with every word. He knew it was the truth, he had done that to Sam, but he had _saved _him. Why didn't Sam see that as the gift it was?

"I was ready," Sam said relentlessly. "I was done, finally done. I was happy."

"No," Dean growled, anger coming to his defense now. "You were suicidal. I saved you from yourself. You were okay after. _'I'm happy with my life'_. '_Things are good'_. Remember saying any of that, Sam?"

Sam laughed mirthlessly. "How do you even know that was me talking? How do you know it wasn't _Gadreel_?" He spat the name with hatred, with loathing, as an accusation.

"It was you," Dean said. "I know it was you."

Sam shrugged. "Because you know me so well, right? How come you didn't know to leave well enough alone then?" He raked his hands through his hair. "I guess I should just be grateful it was an angel you stuck me with. What would you have done if that hadn't worked? Would you have stuffed Crowley down my throat? Anything so you could pretend you weren't a failure. I guess I should be grateful you didn't make another damn demon deal."

Dean took an involuntary step back. He couldn't believe Sam was talking about that now, as if it was a mistake. Dean had gone to Hell for Sam, to save him. How could he say it like an accusation?

"Don't you… _dare_ talk about that," Dean growled. "I saved your life, and you crapped all over _that_. I went to Hell for you, and you were screwing a demon!"

Sam grinned as he stepped forward, then Dean was falling back as Sam's fist connected with his jaw. He landed hard on the ground and the breath was knocked out of him.

Sam leaned down over him. "I'm going to make it real clear this time, Dean. I don't need you. I don't want you. I am done with you. _Pick a hemisphere. Stay away from me for good."_

Dean flinched back from the words. "You don't mean that. I didn't mean that."

"No, you did," Sam said. "Don't think I never realized. You didn't call me because you wanted me back; you called because you wanted to keep an eye on me. You had to protect the world _from_ me. I get that. I am protecting myself from you now."

Dean struggled to a stand and Sam watched.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you're done," Dean said. "Tell me you're not just pissed."

Sam shook his head, a breathy laugh on his lips. "I mean it."

His hand swung through the air again, striking Dean across the temple. Before Dean had even had a chance to recover, he dealt another blow, to the cheek this time. Dean felt his teeth mash against his cheek and he spat blood. Sam landed blow after blow, jaw, ribs, gut, until Dean was lightheaded. He fell boneless to the floor, and Sam bowed over him, fists clenched.

"I am done."

Dean closed his eyes, defeated. Sam meant every word of it, every blow. Something between them, something he wouldn't have believed capable of breaking, had shattered. He heard a high-pitched whine and his swollen eyes cracked open to see Sam standing with his head tilted back and blue-white smoke surrounding him.

"Yes," Sam whispered and the smoke forced its way into Sam's mouth.

Dean's head fell back against the dirt and his eyes drifted closed. Defeated and desolate, unconsciousness was a welcome relief for him as it swept over him, dragging him away from Sam for the last time.

* * *

><p><strong>So… I'm just gonna go hide in my bunker for a while. Please address death threats in reviews. <strong>

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks to Jenjoremy for the beta job and to SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for all their help and support. Also, thanks to all of you for sticking with me after the last chapter. I got a couple death threats but I none of you carried them out, so I am grateful.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Eight<strong>_

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><p>"<em>I have been you, Sam Winchester. Your insides reek of shame and weakness."<em>

* * *

><p>Gadreel took a moment to adjust to being inside his vessel again, stretching his arms and flexing his fingers, before looking down at Dean Winchester's unconscious form. There were darkening areas of skin that would bloom into spectacular bruises before long. Dean's face would be a Technicolor canvas of Sam's desperation.<p>

He could feel Sam now, tucked away in the back of his mind, reeling at what he had done. Gadreel felt nothing, however. He had no emotional connection to this unconscious man. They had never been friends. They had shared a need and that had forced them into contact; that was all. He felt a greater connection to Kevin Tran, and the only words he had ever exchanged with the young prophet had been under the guise of Sam Winchester. He had felt that bond with the boy as he had spared his life. That bond made him determined that the choice would not have been made been in vain. He needed him protected, which is why he had consented to Sam's plan, even though it had been at the risk that Sam would not let him in again.

Even without a connection to the man, Gadreel knew he needed to ensure his safety before leaving, as Sam would surely insist on it. His eyes moved up and down Dean's body, cataloging injuries and fractures, and he smiled grimly. There was nothing there that posed a threat to Dean's life. He would be in pain, but that was to be expected after what had happened. Dean would sustain long enough to reach the bunker and Castiel's healing.

Gadreel turned away and went up the steps and into the cabin. He didn't want to leave this place; it was suitably isolated and warded, but he couldn't be here when Dean woke up. The argument would surely start again. Dean had proved when he tricked Sam into allowing him in that he didn't much care about Sam's choices.

He collected the duffel from the table and went outside again. After strapping the bag onto the back of the bike, he climbed on and started the engine. The rumble seemed to stir Dean, and Gadreel heard him murmur his brother's name. He didn't look back as he drove down the winding track that led to the main road.

He drove for two hours, heading west, before he was forced to stop. He had been weakened by leaving Sam grace, and the body was physically exhausted from its labors. They needed a place to rest. He pulled the bike onto the side of the road and cut the engine. Keeping a peripheral awareness of his surroundings, he withdrew into himself to speak to Sam.

The creation of the bunker within Sam's mind had undergone changes in the time they had been travelling. Chairs were tipped over, lamps smashed and books torn from the shelves. Torn pages littered the floor among the broken glass. Sam stood in the center of it all, panting hard.

"Did it make you feel any better?" Gadreel asked.

Sam spoke through his teeth. "What do you think?"

"I think it was a waste of energy if it did nothing to help." He swept an arm through the air and the trashed room was returned to its usual orderly state, books replaced on shelves and lamps returned to tables. "Are you lonely? Would you like me to bring Dean and Kevin back? You can return to your movie."

Sam shook his head and laughed softly. "You didn't spend much time on earth before the fall, did you?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"Because if you did, you wouldn't need to ask. No, I don't want the puppets back. I'd rather be alone."

"As you wish," Gadreel said.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Sam asked. "Got another family member for me to pound on?"

Gadreel raised an eyebrow. "You have no other family."

"I have plenty," Sam snapped. "Family don't end with blood."

That was what Bobby Singer had once said, Gadreel knew, but he was dead. Being family to the Winchesters hadn't saved his life. In a way, it had cost it. "Bobby is gone, Sam."

Sam seemed to absorb the truth of those words for a moment, and then he visibly sagged. "What do you want?"

"We need rest," Gadreel said.

"So get a motel," Sam replied.

"I am unfamiliar with the process of arranging accommodation and we are nearly out of cash."

Sam sighed. "Rolled up pair of socks in my duffel, there's cash in there. As for 'arranging accommodation', you've got my whole head to explore; work it out."

"You won't come to the fore to do it?" Gadreel was _capable_ of doing it, he just didn't want to.

"No, Pinocchio. When you took my body for a test-spin, you became a real boy. Suck it up and do it yourself."

Gadreel sighed. "Very well."

Sam pulled out one of the chairs at the table and sat down heavily, making the action a pointed end to their conversation.

* * *

><p>Sam was sitting with his head in his hands, trying to come to terms with what he had done, when Gadreel came back. He quickly straightened.<p>

"We all checked in?" he asked.

Gadreel nodded. "I found us a motel and we have a room."

"Well, you be sure to enjoy that," Sam said bitterly.

"You are upset with me," Gadreel said.

Sam laughed mirthlessly. "I wonder why. It couldn't be that, because of you, I just pounded my brother into the dirt back there, could it?"

"It was your choice, Sam."

"I had no choice!" Sam shouted, lurching to his feet and advancing on the angel. "You and Dean gave me no choice.

"I think you are upset with yourself," Gadreel said, "because you enjoyed what you did."

Sam staggered back a step. "Screw you."

"It was a relief to you to finally have a chance to return the pain. Dean hurt you, making the decisions he did, and you wanted revenge. I believe every punch was a relief for you."

"You don't know me," Sam said through gritted teeth. "You know nothing about me."

He _hadn't_ enjoyed hurting Dean. He had hated it. Every blow sickened him. When Dean had dropped boneless to the ground, Sam had been repulsed, wanting nothing more than to check on his brother, to make sure he was okay. The angel knew nothing.

"You forget, Sam. I am in your head. I know that in the darkest corner of your mind, you rejoiced." He tilted his head to the side. "Perhaps _you_ don't even know. Your mind is a complicated place, so many memories and thoughts crowding in, all those secret corners."

Sam turned away from him, appalled by what he was hearing. He couldn't have enjoyed it, even on some unconscious level. He had hurt Dean; he could never have enjoyed that.

"We have things to discuss," Gadreel said.

"Like what?" Sam said in a dead voice.

"Like what we are going to do now," Gadreel said. "Do you think Dean will attempt to follow us now? Will he keep Kevin safe?"

Sam sat down on the edge of the table and examined the angel. There was intensity in his eyes that Sam hadn't seen before. "I think so. If me…" He paused and cleared his throat. "If what happened didn't get through to him, nothing will."

"Good," Gadreel said, voice full of satisfaction. "Kevin will be protected."

Sam eyed the angel carefully. "What's deal with that? You don't seem to give a crap about anything else, but you care about Kevin."

"Metatron gave me a chance to earn my good name again. He gave me a chance to go home, not the place I was for millennia, my real home. He offered me freedom, and all I had to do was kill Kevin."

"But you didn't," Sam said. "You spared him. Why?"

"Because I knew him. I had watched him through your eyes for months. I knew the details of him: his quirks and dislikes and his inability to sing. I couldn't bring myself to end that all potential."

Sam smiled, affection for Kevin surging within him. "Don't get me wrong, I'm damn glad you didn't kill him, even if it means I'm going to be ridden by an angel to the end of time. But let me get this straight… what you're essentially saying is that you gave up all that, all you ever wanted, to save my friend because he couldn't sing?"

Gadreel nodded. "What of it?"

"Nothing," Sam said quickly. "Just wanted to know."

He supposed he should thank the angel for what he had done, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. This angel was the reason he was trapped in the situation he was in now, stuck within his own mind, away from the people he loved and a marked man. He wasn't going to thank him for that.

* * *

><p>Sam didn't have a clear idea of time in the created bunker, but he knew a lot had to have passed before Gadreel came to him again; it felt like he'd been alone forever. The isolation was starting to wear him down. He wandered the halls of the bunker endlessly, spending what felt like hours just sitting in Dean's room, looking at photographs and fiddling with the weapons on the wall. He didn't go to his own room. Kevin had been right: it was just a dumping ground for laundry where he happened to sleep. There was nothing in there to tether him to who he was, and that was what he needed, as he was starting to feel like he was losing that.<p>

With no one to talk with and nothing but his memories for company, he found himself growing depressed. The last memory he had of being himself was not a pleasant one. Sometimes he yearned for Dean and Kevin and considered asking Gadreel to bring them back for him, but he resisted. They weren't real; they were merely puppets and it was just an illusion.

He was lying on Dean's bed, arm thrown up over his eyes when Gadreel appeared. He didn't hear him come, and he didn't speak, but Sam felt his presence. He lowered his arm and looked at the angel.

"What?"

"We need to talk," Gadreel said.

Sam sat up and swung his legs around to the side of the bed, preparing to stand up. He didn't know why it mattered; it wasn't like Dean knew, and it wasn't even real, but it felt wrong to have the angel in his brother's bedroom, his sanctuary. He ducked around Gadreel, slipped out the door and walked through the halls until he reached library, feeling the angel stalking his footsteps.

He sat down on the edge of the table and eyed the angel. "So, talk."

"We have reached the ocean."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Big, isn't it?"

"Compared to Heaven's vastness, it is a drop of water, but I did not come here to discuss our location."

"Then what do you want?"

Gadreel looked across the room for a moment, not meeting Sam's eye. "I do not know what to do next."

"I thought you had a plan!"

"I did. My plan was to reach the ocean."

"You're kidding me, right? You've come all this way, in… how many days have you been running around in my body now?"

"It has been a week since we departed from the cabin."

A week. It had seemed like an eternity to Sam.

"And in that time you've managed to do what exactly, explore the highways of America? What happened to killing Metatron?"

"We are not ready," Gadreel said. "He would overpower us with ease as we are now. We need time to heal."

"So heal already," Sam snapped.

Gadreel looked impatient. "It will take time."

"Then what are we supposed to do in the meantime? What am _I _supposed to do? Stay stuck in this... place, no one to talk to and nothing to do? I'm losing my mind here."

"I offered you the chance to come to the fore," Gadreel said. "You could have interacted with the motel manager."

"Which would have been a real treat," Sam said sarcastically.

"I can cancel out your awareness," Gadreel offered.

"No thanks," Sam snapped.

"You would not feel anything. You would be at peace, Sam. Isn't that what you want?"

"I said no!" Sam shouted. "You have taken over my body, but you don't get to take my mind as well. That's not why I let you in."

Gadreel looked impatient. "Then what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to let me out. I want to eat and sleep and be myself for a while."

"It is not safe."

"Bull," Sam quickly returned. "You saw everything I saw when you were in me and you took over whenever you wanted a quick chat with Dean. Can't you do that again? Please, I just… I need to be me for a while."

Gadreel seemed to consider for a long time, with his eyes distant, then he said, "Very well. I will not fight you on this. You can come to the fore, but be prepared, Sam. If I sense danger, I will immediately take over and you will be stuffed back in this place."

Sam nodded eagerly. "Deal."

"I will remain in contact with you throughout," Gadreel warned.

"Sure." Sam was ready to agree to almost anything.

"And if you do anything to endanger us or Kevin, I will—"

"I won't _endanger_ Kevin," Sam said bitterly. "I know you've got this laser focused obsession with him, but he's_ my_ friend. I won't let him get hurt."

Gadreel stared at him for a long moment, seeming to see right through Sam. Perhaps he was. He was in Sam's head after all. He could have been sifting through Sam's thoughts and memories, looking for betrayal. He wouldn't find any. When Sam had consented to letting Gadreel in again, he had trusted him and offered his trust in return.

Gadreel nodded once and then the bunker seemed to shimmer. Sam felt awareness returning to him as sensation came to his limbs. He heard crashing waves and felt a cool breeze on his face. His eyes cleared and he found himself looking out at an infinite horizon of ocean with moonlight sparkling on the water. He laughed softly, and was pleased to hear it echo in his own ears. This was freedom.

'_A form of it at least,' _Gadreel's voice echoed in his mind.

"Whoa!" Sam gasped. "What the hell are you doing?"

'_What are you doing?'_ Gadreel asked in return. '_You said you wanted to sleep and eat.' _

"I will," Sam said. "I just want to enjoy this for a while first. And what the hell's with you talking anyway? I thought this was my time."

'_It is, but you cannot expect me to withdraw completely. I must stay here to protect you. How would you recognize an angel without me?'_

Sam looked up and down the beach. "There's no one here but me."

'_But us, and that could change at any moment. I will be here, Sam, as long as you are.'_

"Does that mean forever?" Sam asked. "Is this my life now? You as a voice in my head or me trapped in the bunker?"

'_Or until we are killed by Metatron. Does it matter?' _

"I don't know," Sam said thoughtfully. "Perhaps."

* * *

><p><strong>So… Sammy is on the outside for a change. I was going to follow the last chapter with more DeanCas/Kevin, but I thought a glimpse into Sam/Gadreel's adventures would be more interesting. We will return to Dean and co in the next chapter.**

**Progress update for SPN Mum who likes long stories—and who incidentally has reviewed every story I have ever written, Chuck bless her—I am writing C22 now, so you should be satisfied with the length in the end. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	9. Chapter 9

**Thanks to Jenjoremy for beta'ing. She really goes above and beyond when it comes to this story. Also thanks to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for their help and support in the outlining phase.**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Nine<strong>_

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><p>"<em>And Your Grace? What will you do about that? You will die if you don't replenish it."<em>

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><p>Castiel was worried. It had been almost three days since Dean set off for Montana, and he hadn't returned, he hadn't called, and he hadn't prayed. There was nothing to tell them that Dean was even alive anymore, nothing to tell them Gadreel hadn't murdered him the moment he arrived.<p>

Kevin dealt with the stress better than Castiel did; at least he had something to do with his time. He spent all his waking hours bent over the angel tablet, doing his best to decipher it. So far, there was no great discovery, and Castiel was swiftly losing hope that he would ever see home again. That fear was compounded by Dean's absence and Sam's possession.

He told himself it was possible that Dean had found a way to free Sam and they were travelling back together, but he couldn't convince himself completely. Dean and Sam's phones both went unanswered. Even if Dean didn't think to call and inform him of what was happening, Sam would. It was the sort of thing Sam remembered to do.

Even though Castiel tried to hold onto his positive thoughts, he couldn't deny the fact there was a very real chance that the reason Dean wasn't answering his phone was because he was dead. Then they would both be gone, Sam to an angel and Dean to Death. He would be left alone with Kevin, charged with his care, and terrified of the responsibility. Every time he tried to do something great, without the Winchesters' support, he failed and the consequences were dire.

Dean had to be okay.

* * *

><p>The third day of Dean's absence dawned and Castiel's worry was at a peak when there was the sound of a fist hammering on the door. Castiel sped up the stairs and reached for the handle, but Kevin caught his arm and hissed, "Wait."<p>

Castiel could have broken his grip easily, but he could see how worried the young prophet was and didn't want to panic him further, so he dropped his hand to his side again and waited.

"Who is it?" Kevin shouted.

"Me," Dean replied, and there was dreadful bleakness in his tone. Castiel knew then that Sam wasn't with him.

"How do we know—" Kevin started, but Castiel pushed him aside, ignoring Kevin's squeak of protest, and opened the door.

Dean was leaning heavily on the doorframe, and as Castiel catalogued his appearance, he understood why. Dean's face was a rainbow of bruising. His jaw, his cheeks, his swollen eyes, they all told of a devastating beating.

"What happened to you?" he asked.

"Drink first, questions later," Dean said, pushing between them and making his way down the steps with careful movements that made Castiel worry about internal injuries.

He poured himself a measure of whiskey from one of the decanters and slugged it back and then poured another. He perched on the edge of the table gingerly and sipped at his drink.

"Dude, what the hell happened to you?" Kevin asked.

"Took a beating," Dean said curtly.

"Gadreel did this to you," Castiel said, coming down the steps and standing in front of Dean.

Dean shook his head slowly. "Nah, this was all Sam."

"Sam!" Kevin squawked.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment. "Yeah, Sam."

"You mean Gadreel did it, using Sam as a conduit," Castiel said—it wasn't a question.

Dean looked at him with something like pity. "No, Cas, the angel was out of him by this point. This was all Sam."

Castiel looked Dean up and down, assessing injuries with a glance alone. "Sam gave you three broken ribs, internal contusions and a fractured jaw?"

Dean probed his jaw gently and said, "Nice work, Sammy."

"You can tell all that by just looking at him?" Kevin asked.

Castiel nodded. "It is the ability of an angel to—"

"Yeah, I'm sure that's cool and all, but can you heal him now?"

Castiel hesitated for the barest split-second, an instinct not a choice, and then reached for Dean, but Dean pulled back and caught his wrist. "What's going on, Cas?"

"Nothing," Castiel said quickly. "I am going to heal you now."

"No, you're not. You're going to explain what's going on. You thinking maybe I deserve this, so I should hang on to my aches and pains a little longer?"

"Of course not," Castiel said sharply, disappointed that Dean would even think it of him.

"Then what is it? You can heal now, can't you?"

"Yes. I can heal you perfectly." He pulled his wrist from Dean's grip and reached for him again, but Dean pulled back and slid off the table. He took a few steps, out of Castiel's reach, and fixed Castiel with a glare.

"You're lying to me, Cas. I don't mean to be a dick, but every time you've lied to me before, we've ended up with a pile of shit to deal with. What aren't you saying?"

Castiel sighed and dropped his hand back to his side. "My grace – I still don't have it."

"But you said…" Dean started.

"I do have grace but it is not mine. I took this from another angel." Castiel sighed. "It does not live within me as it should. It burns."

"So you've got angelic diaper rash and that stops you from healing Dean?" Kevin asked.

Castiel ignored him, addressing Dean. "It is limited, Dean. It will burn out, and when it does, I will no longer be of use to you."

Dean's eyes narrowed slightly. "That's bullshit and you know it. I've told you before that you don't need powers to be useful, so how's about you tell me the truth. What happens when it burns out?"

"I die," Castiel said simply.

Dean shook his head, looking stunned. "You die as in… I don't know… become human again?"

"I die as in my vessel expires and I cease to exist."

Dean cursed loudly and fluidly.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said, bowing his head.

Dean took a couple passes up the room, holding one hand directly over his broken ribs, and then he wheeled to face Castiel. "How do we stop this? Can we get you more grace?"

Castiel shook his head. It was possible to get more grace, but it would mean stealing it from another angel as he had stolen Theo's, and that would doom the angel to death or humanity. None of the angels were prepared for life as a human—he hadn't even been prepared, and he'd lived among them for years. To take grace from another angel and leave it alive would be to doom that angel to death, even if he managed to extract it without killing him.

"Okay," Dean said, raking a hand through his hair. "So we keep it from burning out. No healing, no… whatever else drains it. We keep you as human as possible until we can get you your own grace back. That'll work, right? Your own grace won't burn."

Castiel smiled. Dean was reacting exactly as he would have expected him to had he thought about it. For Dean, this was a new mission, Castiel's mission. He would suffer through his injuries in order to sustain the angel long enough for them to find the grace. "It will work," he said. It _would_ work for a time, but the mere process of existing within Castiel would eventually burn it down. Castiel didn't know how long it would last, but he was not immortal, not anymore. Dean didn't need to know that though.

"Awesome," Dean said. "That's another thing on the to-do list along with kill Metatron and Gadreel."

Castiel frowned. "Gadreel is in Sam, Dean."

"I know," Dean said bitterly. "Damn, I know that, but when we figure out a way to get him out, I'm killing him… no matter what Sam wants."

Kevin looked blank. "Why wouldn't Sam want the angel that rode him like a fairground pony killed? And what's the deal with him doing this to you?"

Dean picked up his glass from the table and drained it in one swallow. He set his shoulders, as if bracing himself for something, and then began to speak.

"Okay, so when I got there, Gadreel was the one running the switches. He was… well, a dick, but he said he'd give me Sammy back, so I thought awesome, right, but Sam wasn't exactly pleased to see me."

"Gadreel left Sam?" Castiel asked.

"Yeah, he booked it out of Sam, let us talk for a while. I…" He looked away. "I don't know what exactly the angel told Sam about what happened, but Sam knew it all. He knew about being a piñata for Gadreel; he knew I was the one that tricked him into it; hell, he knew he was dying and I had no choice, but he was so pissed."

Castiel and Kevin stayed silent, coaxing him without words to continue.

"He said… Well, he said a bunch of stuff, but the basic message was that he didn't want to be near me. He hates me for what I did. And, damn, he looked sick. He was coughing blood again and shaking all over the place, but when he started hitting, he was on form." He locked eyes with Castiel. "It was like getting a beating from you again."

Castiel remembered. He remembered the alley that smelled of urine and rotting food, and he remembered his absolute fury with Dean. That Dean was prepared to—happy to—give himself up to Michael, after everything he had sacrificed for him. He remembered his fists connecting and how it had felt so right and yet so wrong that he was hurting Dean, for whose faith he had given up everything.

"It must have been Gadreel?" Castiel said. "He could have made you believe it was Sam but remained."

"Yeah, nice thought," Dean said, "but I saw him smoking out of Sam. It was all Sam doing the talking."

"It must have been the grace," Castiel said.

"I'm telling you it—"

Castiel shook his head. "I know what you saw, but I believe Gadreel must had imbued Sam with enough grace to remain well enough to talk to you when he was dispossessed."

"You can do that?" Kevin asked.

Castiel nodded. "When we heal, we leave grace threaded through you. Not much, the merest portion, but enough."

"Hold up!" Dean said. "You've healed me a bunch of times. Does that mean I have grace inside me?"

"Not anymore," Castiel said. "It does not last. As is happening in me, it would burn out, but as you are not an angel, it does no harm."

"So, Sam's only upright and fighting because he's got grace in him?"

"Yes."

What Castiel didn't tell Dean—he didn't need to know—was that Sam was likely only living at all because of the portion of grace in him. Gadreel could not have been working to his best ability to heal Sam during the time he was in him, especially if, as Castiel suspected, he was the real cause behind Castiel's resurrection after April had killed him. Their only hope now was that Gadreel had turned his attentions to healing Sam properly. Without that, there was no hope for Sam.

"Then I guess it's good he's back inside," Dean said tiredly.

"What do you mean?" Kevin asked.

"Last thing I remember, before Sam's punches laid me out good, was Sam letting Gadreel back in."

"Why the hell would he do that?" Kevin asked.

Dean shrugged. "No idea, but he did."

Castiel sighed out a breath at the news. Despite what had happened between Sam and Dean, Castiel believed in their bond as brothers. Sam could be angry with Dean, and Castiel would understand it, he would even understand the beating—Winchesters were physical beings—what he couldn't understand, however, was Sam letting Dean go. There had to be another reason.

"You're happy?" Dean asked.

Castiel nodded. "I know you are angry, and you have every right to be, but Gadreel is saving Sam's life by being inside him still. I am grateful for that." He stared into Dean's eyes. "Aren't you?"

In answer, Dean turned away and walked toward the door that led to the bedrooms. Castiel watched him go with a furrowed brow.

When Dean's footsteps could no longer be heard, Kevin spoke up. "Okay, you've been a part of the Winchesters' bandwagon for longer than me, so I have to ask, what the hell's going on? Sam wouldn't just kick Dean's ass because he's pissed, would he?"

Castiel smiled slightly. "It wouldn't be the first time, but no. Something more is happening than Sam being upset at the choices Dean made for him."

"Like what?"

"I believe," Castiel said slowly, "that Sam is still protecting Dean somehow."

"A beating means protection?" Kevin asked.

"In the case of Sam and Dean, yes, sometimes it does."

"So you think Sam's in trouble?"

"We _know_ Sam's in trouble. Almost every angel in creation is hunting him. I have to believe Sam is aware of that and is choosing to keep Dean away to protect him."

"You have to believe?" Kevin asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," Castiel said somberly. "Because otherwise it does indeed mean that Sam is done and the Winchesters are broken."

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><p><strong>So… Poor Cas is dying and Dean's all out of ideas. I really do put the boys through the ringer. I don't plan to go to S10 levels of suffering for Castiel though, so don't fret. <strong>

**Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter. I love hearing from you all.**

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	10. Chapter 10

** Thanks to Jenjoremy for beta'ing. Also thanks to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all their help. Love you ladies.**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Ten<strong>_

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><p>"<em>Go get moose, squirrel. Unless... Unless, of course, you can't. That's why you're here, isn't it? The poor giant baby's in trouble again, isn't he?" <em>

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><p>Dean successfully avoided a deep talk with Castiel for a week. It helped that he was beat to hell and so could be excused for hours at a time to 'rest'. What he did in reality was lie on his bed and wonder how he could have done things differently. However he came at it, Sam ended up dead, and that was just what Dean couldn't let happen. He couldn't let his brother go. He'd had no choice but to let the angel in, and everything that came after was because of that. Kevin had almost died because of him. Sam was running around with an angel inside him because of him.<p>

At least he was alive in some form.

Dean knew that hadn't saved Sam for himself, not completely. He hadn't wanted to keep Sam alive so he could have him there, backup and brother. He had saved him because he wasn't ready to live in a world where Sam was not.

His time of grace ended when he ventured into the main rooms of the bunker to get food and check on Kevin's progress. He ambled into the library and looked around. Kevin was nowhere to be seen and Castiel was sitting at the table with a book open in front of him. He looked up when Dean came in.

"Dean," he said in greeting.

"Where's Kevin?"

"Sleeping."

Dean checked his watch. "It's like three o'clock. Did someone tell him saving the world came with naptime?"

Castiel frowned. "It is three in the _morning_; I told him to go to bed the second time he fell asleep over the tablet and almost fractured his skull."

"Oh. Well, uh, that's good I guess." Dean carried on through to the kitchen and sighed when he saw the coffee pot draining by the sink. He wiped it over with a towel and set it into the machine again. One good thing about Kevin was that he always made sure the machine was prepped and ready for the morning. He pressed the button and the gurgle and spit of coffee being produced echoed through the otherwise silent room.

Dean leaned back against the counter and looked at Castiel. He had that pinched, almost constipated look that meant he was uncomfortable with something, and Dean had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what was coming.

"Dean, we need to talk."

And damn it all if Dean wasn't right.

Dean fixed his eyes on the opposite wall. "What do you want to talk about?" he asked, forcing his tone to remain even.

Castiel stepped forward until he was in Dean's vision, until he had no choice but to look at the angel. "Sam."

Dean sighed. "Can we not, Cas? I really don't need another conversation about how badly I screwed up."

"I have not once said that you screwed up," Castiel said, looking a little hurt. "I understand what you did and why. I cannot say I wouldn't have done the same thing in your position."

"Then what is there to talk about?"

"How we get him back," Castiel said simply.

Dean sighed. Castiel didn't want to accept it. Hell, Dean didn't want to accept it. But the facts were what they were: Sam didn't want to come back. He had let that heavenly asshole back in — after beating Dean bloody — knowing exactly what he was doing. "He's not coming back, Cas," he said tiredly. "Sammy's done now."

"I disagree," Castiel said. "I think Sam was forced into a position in which he had no choice but to let Gadreel in again. I think that if he can get him free again, ending Gadreel in the process, we can get Sam back."

It was what Dean wanted to hear, that there was a chance Sam would come back, but he knew it wasn't going to happen. Sam had made his choice clear, and this time, Dean had to respect it. It wasn't like last time; Sam wasn't dead, so it was easier to bear. Sam was in the world in some form, so Dean could go on with his own, even though it was one person short.

"It won't work," he said.

"It won't if you refuse to consider it," Castiel said irritably. "I know your feelings have been hurt, but—"

"My feelings?" Dean said incredulously. "No, Cas, it was my jaw that was hurt, and my ribs, and my face!"

"And that did nothing to you emotionally?" Castiel asked with a raised eyebrow. "Feeling _Sam's_ fists pounding into you and hearing the things he said had no affect?"

Dean shook his head. "Oh yeah, they had plenty of affect. His damn fists and his words made it plenty clear that Sam doesn't want our help. He wants the angel in and me out. I'm giving him what he wants."

Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, his hands fisted at his sides. "You stubborn, idiotic… Just because it didn't end up the way you wanted, you are willing to give up! Again!"

Dean thought that was a low blow. Sure, he'd been willing to give up, _once_, but that was a long time ago and he'd been backed into a corner. It was the damned apocalypse. And he hadn't given up when it mattered. Sam had…

He sighed and shook his head.

Sam had gotten through to him. Sam had trusted him. Sam had known he would do the right thing. Sam had believed in him after Bobby and Castiel had given up.

"Trust in your brother, Dean," Castiel said quietly. "Trust that now, just this once, he might be the one doing the protecting."

It would be easy to deny Castiel, to refuse to consider it. After all, he had the bruises, and the past experience, that showed he should have no trust in his brother. Sam had let him down a lot over the years, most recently when he'd given up Dean for dead and went on to live his apple-pie life with his woman.

But… he had come back when it mattered; he had given her up in favor of hunting with his brother. He had been ready to end it all in that church, but he hadn't. He had given up the trials because Dean asked him to. There was the undeniable fact he had been ready to go with Death, but when Dean had pleaded with him, he'd stayed. He'd come back for Dean. He was pissed at Dean now; that was undeniable, but was there a chance that there was something more going on? Could Sam be working his own mission now, a mission that didn't involve Dean?

"Okay," Dean said slowly. "I'm not saying I'm sure, but, okay, it's a possibility. So, what's the plan for getting Gadreel out of him?"

"You remember Alastair?"

"Do I remember the demon that tortured me for three decades? Uh, yeah!"

"Then you remember what he did to me when Uriel and I came to retrieve Anna, when you made the deal with us: Sam's life for Anna."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I remember that was the deal anyway. Sammy kinda turned it around on you, didn't he?"

Castiel smiled slightly. "Yes, he did, but that's not what I'm referring to. I was thinking of what Alastair did to me. He almost cast me out of my vessel."

"Yeah," Dean said, hope kindling inside of him. "I remember. But…" The hope burst like a balloon. "Sammy was real messed up when I saw him, even if, as you say, there was grace left in him. How do we know we're not going to get the angel out just for him to die?"

"I will ensure his physical wellbeing before we act," Castiel reassured him. "And I will heal all of the residual damage I can."

"But your grace. You couldn't heal me, and that was only bruises and scrapes."

"That _is_ broken bones and bruises, and you were the one that stopped me. I am capable of healing still. I can do this, Dean. I can save him."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. He could see a few snags in the plan, the grace being just one of them, but he had confidence in Castiel. If he said he could heal Sam, he could. "So, we need to track Sam down again, and then we can make with the chanting, and we'll have Sam back?"

"In essence, yes," Castiel said. "But it cannot be you or me that casts the spell. It needs to be a demon."

"Don't say it, Cas!"

"Do you have another idea?"

"No, but… Dammit! I don't want that limey bastard anywhere near Sam."

"Neither do I, but Crowley is the only demon we currently have in our possession. I can think of no one else that we can utilize."

Dean groaned. He didn't want to do this. He didn't want to have to explain to Crowley what he had done and why they needed his help.

"It comes down to this, Dean, what do you want more? Sam to be free of Gadreel and here with us, or to save face in front of Crowley?"

"And if we're wrong?" Dean asked. "If Sam doesn't want us to save him. If he actually wants the angel in him?"

Castiel looked apologetic. "What are you more afraid of, Dean? Losing your brother to Gadreel forever or facing him again with the possibility we might be wrong?"

Dean didn't have an answer he thought the angel would want to hear, so he stayed silent. Behind him, the coffee machine gurgled its last.

* * *

><p>Crowley heard the footsteps on the other side of his cell. He recognized Dean's surefooted plods, but the other was unfamiliar It wasn't Sam with his gigantic hooves or Kevin with his ballerina tippy toes, so that meant someone new. A change of face as it were. Someone he could have a little fun with? Possibly. He schooled his features into a welcoming and insincere smile and waited.<p>

The walls pulled back and light crept in at him as Dean—looking like he'd gone a round or two with Thor's hammer—entered followed by Castiel. That was a disappointment. Castiel wasn't as much fun as Kevin, but he would suffice. A King trapped was a King who could adjust.

"Hello, boys," he said airily. "To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit?"

Dean seemed to struggle on the verge of speech for a moment, and then he half turned away, as if he was going to leave. Castiel caught his eye and shook his head infinitesimally.

"Here's the deal," Dean said, turning back to face him. "We need something, and you're going to deliver."

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "I am? That doesn't sound like me."

"You are, because I'm going to give you a shot of the good stuff." He held up a syringe of blood. "Word is you're jonesing for it."

Crowley stared at the blood in his hand and tried not to show how close they had him. He wanted it, wanted it bad, but he was the King of Hell, and he didn't beg.

"C'mon, Crowley," Dean said impatiently. "You know you want it. It's fresh and good."

Crowley fought the urge to lick his lips. "And what do you want in return? Stock tips? Hair care advice for the Moose?"

Dean grinned. "We want information on an old friend of yours. Alastair."

Crowley chuckled. "Alastair was never my friend. Didn't exactly move in the same circles."

"That's right," Dean said with a grin. "You were just a punk-ass crossroads demon back then, weren't you?"

Crowley bristled with indignation. There was a time, not that long ago, in which Dean Winchester had been completely at his mercy. He had broken both Winchesters, had their former rescues dying like dogs, and they had known his power. Now that they had him shackled here, they thought he was their lapdog. When he got out of these chains, and he would, he was going to eviscerate them for the inconvenience they had caused him.

"What I _was_ doesn't matter," he said. "What I am now does."

"Yeah, now you're a—"

Castiel cut Dean off with a hand on his arm. "Remember why we are here, Dean," he said softly.

Crowley grinned at him. "Yes, Dean, remember that you are here because you need _my_ help. A little respect might be in order."

"Are you kidding me with this?" Dean asked Castiel, gesturing at Crowley." Listen to him!"

Castiel pushed past Dean and came to stand opposite Crowley. "Do you know of the spell that will expel an angel? Alastair used it once."

"What's the matter, Cas?" Crowley asked. "You feeling a little tight inside the suit, want to upgrade the vessel maybe? 'Cause there's an easier way."

"Do you know the spell?" Castiel asked.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "I am the King! Of course I know it. _Potestas inferna, me confirma._ Roughly translated: the power of Hell confirms me. I am the very definition of the power of Hell."

"And yet here you are," Dean said smugly.

"Here I am," Crowley said. "And here you are, coming to me for help. Which one of us is the more pathetic this time? Speaking of pathetic, where's the moose?"

"On a beer run," Dean said quickly.

Crowley could tell a liar at a hundred paces in the dark, but Dean made it positively easy. With the tense set of his shoulders and the way his hands fisted, he practically screamed untruth.

Crowley tilted his head to the side. "No, he's not here. What's the matter, Dean? Has the prettiest member of the boy band gone solo, leaving you clinging to your platinum records and memories?"

Dean stepped around the table and cracked Crowley across the jaw. Crowley spat blood onto Dean's shirt. It was a petty payment for a punch that hadn't exactly hurt, but when in Rome…

"Sam's fine," Dean spat.

"And you know I really doubt it," Crowley said.

He saw the tension in Dean and Castiel, and he knew it was Winchester: Jumbo-Size causing it. He wasn't dead; Dean would be too busy staking out crossroads to be here asking for information on expelling angels which meant… Oh, this was too good. The moose really was screwed this time.

"So, who is it?" he asked. "Lucifer again, or did he drop the yes-bomb on another of Castiel's buddies?"

"It is not Lucifer," Castiel said.

That was good, as Crowley was fond of life—present circumstances excepted—and didn't much fancy being smote by a pissy archangel because he'd taken over the running of Hell.

"So, who is it and how did he mange to pry Sam open?"

"That doesn't matter," Dean said brutally, fixing his eyes on a point above Crowley's head. "Can you get the angel out?"

Another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Whatever had happened, Dean felt responsible. Admittedly, he took responsibility for a lot of things that had nothing to do with him, but this was personal. Dean had screwed up somehow. Crowley was dying to know the story behind it, but for now he would amuse himself with the members of Team Free Well-Aren't-We-Screwed that were available to him.

"I can," Crowley said smoothly. "And I will… just as soon as we strike a deal."

"I ain't kissing you," Dean snarled.

Crowley laughed. "Quit clutching your pearls. I don't want a kiss; a handshake deal will do. _When_ I cure Sam of his Heavenly VD, you will take off the chains and let me go. Deal?"

Dean was silent for so long, Crowley thought he wasn't going to answer. Castiel seemed to have the same worry, as he said, "Dean," softly.

"Fine," Dean said. "You get the angel out and you can go free. But after that, all bets are off. You cross paths with us, and we will kill you."

"Flirt," Crowley quipped. "Okay then. Get the moose in here and the chains off and we'll be in business."

"Yeah," Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck. "About that…"

Crowley had the sinking sensation this bid for freedom wasn't going to be as easy as he was hoping. No matter. He was nothing if not adaptable.

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><p><strong>So… how was that for a little lightness after all the drama? I love writing Crowley and really hope you enjoy reading him. <strong>

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	11. Chapter 11

**Thanks and squishy hugs to** **Jenjoremy for beta'ing this for me and to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for helping me get my ideas down.**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Eleven<strong>_

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><p>"<em>A <em>_host__ of angels died when they fell – Azrael, Sophia, Ezekiel... 'Died' doesn't even describe it.  
>Devastation. Wings shredded, unspeakable agony at your hands."<em>

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><p>The falls rushed past at a rate of knots, and Sam quietly watched. Occasionally, he would throw a twig into the water just to see it fly past. It was peaceful here. The only light was the moon and stars, and Sam was able to sit and be unnoticed among the other people out for a moonlit walk in the park.<p>

'_Sam, we should leave now.' _

"Why?" His voice was a bare whisper, a sight movement of lips. No one walking even a few feet from him would have heard it.

'_Because we don't need to be here. I indulged your whim, and now we have been, so let us go.' _

Sam had felt so adrift since he left the bunker. He needed something to tether him, and that need had brought him back to Sioux Falls. He didn't want to see Bobby's burned house, that would be too depressing, but Falls Park was as a good a connection to his deceased friend as any. When they were young, Bobby would bring him and Dean here sometimes, and then later, when were teenagers, they had been able to come alone. Those had been rare, great days, when Dean would say to hell with training or research or whatever their father had instructed them to do that day. They would find a game of soccer to join, and the hours would pass freely. The days spent in the park had been good times and maybe Sam wanted to see if he could hear the echoes for a while.

"We'll go soon."

'_I could make you leave.' _

Sam bristled with indignation. "And I could cast you out."

'_Don't make idle threats, Sam. You have more to gain from my presence than I do.' _

"Yeah, like healing," Sam said. "How's that going?"

'_It is… going.' _

"You don't sound too sure about that," Sam observed.

'_I am sure that you will die without me.' _

Sam rolled his eyes but didn't speak again. He just let his eyes slip over the people in the park, wondering what their stories were. The fact that his healing was progressing so slowly should be a concern to him, and it was, but not as much as he thought it should be. It seemed to him that he was doomed to be stuck like this forever, with an angel riding shotgun on the odd occasions he was allowed to drive the body. Even when they killed Metatron, who was to say Gadreel would want to move on to a new host? Sam wasn't exactly a weak vessel; he'd been Lucifer's own after all. For all he knew, Gadreel got a kick out of that. He said angels were hunting him because of who he was. What reason could they have to hunt one of their own? Gadreel could be one of Lucifer's fallen.

'_I am not Lucifer's.' _There was anger in Gadreel's tone.

"Then who are you? Give me a little for a change."

'_I have given you enough. I saved your life.' _

Sam didn't give the answer he wanted—I didn't ask you to. Gadreel hadn't been helping him when he took Sam over; he'd been helping himself and Dean. It wasn't like he was oblivious to Sam's choice to let go. There was no point starting that argument though, not when Sam was in control for a while. He'd only had a few excursions into the real world since they reached the pacific ocean two weeks ago, and they had been for a limited time. Sam had long enough to find a motel and get something to eat before finding himself stuffed back in the faux bunker again. He was going to make this time last.

He lay back on the damp grass and stared up at the stars. Once, when he was young, Dean had a date with the head cheerleader of the school they'd been in at the time, but he was also supposed to be watching Sam. Not for the first time, Sam had been brought along for the ride. The cheerleader hadn't minded; apparently Sam was cute in all his eleven-year-old glory. It had been summer, and they'd gone to a similar park in a state Sam couldn't even remember now. Dean and his date had disappeared into the woods to make out and Sam had been left sitting on the hood of the Impala, trying not to listen to the sounds coming from the trees. Before he had left, Dean had given Sam an instruction: count the stars and shout when he got to a million. Looking back, it was a pretty mean trick, but at the time Sam had still hero-worshipped his brother, and if he gave him something to do, Sam was going to damn well do it. Sam had lain back on the hood of the Impala and counted until his eyes blurred and he lost track of the numbers. Even when he had, he'd not stopped. He'd just continued to lie there, looking at the endless sky and thinking of how insignificant it made him feel and how proud he was that Dean had trusted him with that task. He didn't know when he had lost that hero-worship for his brother, but he guessed it was sometime in Stanford, when he spent his first year waiting for a postcard or phone call that never came. When they'd reconnected and started hunting again, hero-worship had changed into respect and absolute faith that Dean would do and be whatever Sam needed. Dean had proved that more times that Sam could count, until the last time…

'_When he let me in.'_

"Dammit," Sam snapped. "I know you're an angel and are therefore oblivious to human customs like privacy and tact but can you just… stop? Just let me be me awhile?"

'_Sam!'_

A reply was on Sam's lips, a curse and admonition at once, but before he could speak, Gadreel forced himself to the fore and Sam was shoved back.

* * *

><p>The rush of the falls drew Imogen in, as it always did. She liked the park. It was only a short walk from her dorm room, and on the nights she wasn't with her friends, she made the journey to see it under the stars.<p>

Imogen hadn't always been her name. She was once called Emiliel, and she had led a garrison in the war against Raphael, behind the might that was Castiel, but that was before.

In the early days after the fall, she had clung to her real name as it denoted who she was. She was one among many of the great and good, the powerful and merciful. She had found a vessel easily enough. The girl, blonde, blue-eyed and petite, had been praying for guidance in an empty church when Emiliel found her. She had given her agreement as only the truly devout could, and Emiliel had taken her over.

Emiliel had searched for the rest of her garrison for weeks, knowing they would need her leadership now more than ever. She heard them all on angel radio, calling for help, screaming in pain, and then one by one, the voices she had known faded away. She found only two of what had been a garrison of many—Eleazar and Celeste—and she had been too late for one and unneeded by the other. Celeste had been first; she had taken the vessel of a matronly housewife with three children. Emiliel had begged her to help find the rest of the garrison, but Celeste had refused. She had found love with the vessel's family, and had no wish to leave it behind.

"Don't you see, Emiliel, this is our reward for service," she had said. "We gave millennia to God and the cause, and now He has rewarded us with freedom. We can live as his beloved children."

Emiliel had not known then what caused the fall; that knowledge came later, but she had been sure even then that it was not a reward.

She had left Celeste to her human life and moved on to continue the search. Eleazar had been easy to find the moment she heard his voice, but she had been too late to save him. When she reached him, he had already been mortally wounded by Jediah. Emiliel had smote him, but not before she extracted all the information she could from him. The fall was not God's reward for them. It was the scribe's revenge. Bartholomew and Malachi had taken leadership of scores of angels and Jediah was working for Malachi now, recruiting for the cause. When she had extracted all the information from Jediah, she had slid her blade into his chest and he had been killed. Eleazar had lived a little longer, long enough for Emiliel to hold his hand and listen to his advice before he passed. His counsel had been simple. "Hide, Emiliel. Find a human life and lose yourself in it. Stay away from angels."

Emiliel had taken his advice. She had returned to the church she had found Imogen in, and had seen the missing persons poster tacked to the door. She had been gone three weeks. She was apparently a student at Augustana College, and her family offered a reward for her safe return. She had knocked on the door to the church and when the preacher opened the door, she had feigned a faint. Unable to say anything about where she had been, she had stayed silent. Her family consulted doctors and they diagnosed a breakdown. After a month at home with Imogen's family, Emiliel had returned to school. As she kissed her mother goodbye, Emiliel had stowed away the last piece of her angelic self and she had taken the mantle of Imogen. She went to classes and spent time with her friends. She volunteered at the homeless shelter and went to church. She did human things among the humans, and she enjoyed it.

Especially her walks in the park.

She reached the falls and laid her coat on the dewy grass and then sat down. She was content to sit for while, enjoying the view, but was soon disturbed by footsteps behind her. She didn't look around; she didn't want to encourage whoever it was to join her. This was her place and she didn't want to share time here. She waited for them to pass on, but they didn't. Instead, something cool was rested against the back of her neck. She could feel the thrum of energy that denoted it as an angel blade, and she drew in a shocked breath.

"Hello, Sister," the voice said.

She stiffened.

"Stand up."

She stood slowly, keeping her movements measured. She didn't draw her blade. She was at a disadvantage, and she didn't want to do anything that might encourage the other angel to kill her. She thought perhaps she had a chance of survival if she was careful and did as she was told. It would hurt to leave Imogen's life behind to join one of the factions, but at least she would be alive.

"Turn around."

She obeyed, and then gasped as she caught sight of her foe. It was Sam Winchester, or at least Sam Winchester's body. Which meant this was… "Gadreel."

"I see my fame has come before me," he said bitterly.

It was a dual fame. Sam Winchester was renowned amongst angels as Lucifer's vessel, the boy with the demon blood. Gadreel's name was renowned as the one who had doomed the world to ruin.

"I just want to be left alone," she said in a small voice.

"So do I. But if you know who I am, it means you heard Metatron's decree."

"I don't answer to Metatron."

"No," he said, raising his blade and resting it over her heart. "But you must answer to someone. Bartholomew perhaps."

"No," she shook her head jerkily. "I am alone."

Gadreel nodded. "Thank you for telling me that. It will make things easier for me."

She reacted instinctively. She stepped back even as her blade slipped into her hand. She cast aside Imogen the human and became Emiliel the angel again, the one that had led. Gadreel brought his own blade up and they clanged in the darkness.

Gadreel stepped forward, blade outstretched, and she stepped to the side.

"Out of practice," she sneered. "I suppose prison doesn't come with fight training."

Gadreel snarled, and thrust his weapon again. She sidestepped him again, and laughed.

"Even Imogen could beat you the state you're in now. What happened, Gadreel, pick a weak vessel?"

He lunged at her and she stabbed. The tip of her blade sank into the meat at the top of Gadreel's arm. Blood soaked through the blue cotton of his shirt and grace swirled. Gadreel grunted in pain and then a grim smile crept over his face as he did something inexplicable. He brought up his own sword and thrust forward, driving himself deeper onto her blade. Before she could process the sheer bloody-mindedness of the action, Gadreel's blade slid into her throat.

She was dead before she hit the ground.

* * *

><p>Metatron was… displeased. He couldn't say unhappy, as he had almost everything he had ever wanted, and what could that bring him if not happiness? Heaven was his and his alone, which was admittedly a little lonely, but the peace… Yes, that was wonderful.<p>

He hadn't yet allowed Ezra into Heaven. He was saving that as a reward for something great. The problem was that Ezra hadn't done anything that could be called great yet. He was, in fact, a bit of a disappointment. The simplest tasks seemed beyond him. His only achievements to date were remembering—on occasion—to address Metatron as _Sir_ and not having been killed by the enemy. Admittedly, the latter wasn't much of an achievement when it was examined, as he hadn't managed to even draw the attention of the merest seraph let alone the faction leaders. He couldn't help but think none of this would have happened had he been able to keep Gadreel at his side.

Ezra was not his only disappointment. Castiel's grace was too. When Metatron had released it into the air it hadn't wanted to go into Metatron as he had expected. He had imagined some great lightshow in which the grace was drawn to him and his magnificence, but what he had got was something tawdry. The grace had swam in the air for a while, reaching out and withdrawing, as if searching for its true host. Metatron had been forced to gulp at it, forcing it into himself with his hands. Thank… well, X… no one had been there to witness it.

His frustration hadn't ended there. The grace didn't settle within him. It scratched and rubbed against Metatron's own, like wearing two pairs of socks. It was all wrong. The power was there though, suffusing Metatron even further above the other angels. He had his wings and he had strength. He was an angel to be reckoned with. True, it wasn't the same amount of power he would have gained had he been able to link himself with the tablets, but it would suffice.

Ezra was occupied for now, preparing the sigil that would—Metatron was sure—call other angels to him. Once there, they would be given the choice, join Metatron or die. Even Ezra should be capable of killing another angel. Metatron was going to play it safe though. When the sigil was prepared, he would set himself there, ready and waiting to make the offer. And then, when he had a competent second-in-command, he would dispose of Ezra.

He smiled to himself as he imagined that happy day.

**So… sorry about the Metatron POV. He's a necessary evil for some chapters. **

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	12. Chapter 12

**Huge thanks to Jenjoremy for beta'ing this. I can't overstate just how awesome she is. I send her a mess and get something 100% better back. Also thanks to SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1. They listen to me bitching and whining when the story refuses to cooperate and they cheer each completed and approved chapter.**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Twelve<strong>_

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><p>'<em>As far as I'm concerned, Metatron is the key to fixing everything that's wrong. I'm gonna find him.'<em>

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><p>The only way Dean managed to stay sane after everything that had happened was by focusing on the things he could actually control and the people he could help.<p>

He couldn't be with Castiel while the angel did whatever it was he was doing now—all Dean knew was it would ultimately help Sam, and that was good enough for him. He couldn't help Sam because Sam was on the run—possibly because he hated Dean, possibly because he didn't. He could help Kevin though, so that was what he did. He fetched coffee and pastries and paper and pens and whatever else Kevin needed or wanted in that moment. He was aware he was making a nuisance of himself, hovering like he was, but what was he supposed to do? Kevin was the only one of their ragtag family still there for him to help.

Kevin was working on the tablet and Dean was sitting on the opposite side of the table, outwardly sipping a whiskey and looking calm while inwardly assessing Kevin's pinched forehead and pale skin. The kid hadn't seen daylight for weeks now, so it was no wonder he was looking pasty, but Dean couldn't let him go anywhere in case Metatron or one of the other douchebag angels out there grabbed him.

"You hungry, Kev?" he asked.

Kevin looked up. "Yeah, I guess. Not pizza though. I'm kinda cheesed out."

"No such thing," Dean said. "But we can do something different. How do you feel about burgers?"

Kevin grinned. "The burgers you make that are apparently better than sex?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "Who told you about them?"

Kevin looked uncomfortable. "Uh… Sam mentioned them once."

Dean nodded. "Well, yeah, they are pretty awesome. How's about I cook us up some and you take a break."

"Definitely," Kevin said, pushing away the tablet and getting to his feet.

When they got to the spacious kitchen, Kevin took a seat and Dean began pulling ingredients from the fridge. He laid them on the counter and ripped open the package of ground beef.

Kevin got up and started pawing through the things Dean had amassed. "Okay, chilies I get, but what's with the peanut butter?"

"If you want the better-than-sex-burger, you'll have to trust me, Kevin."

Kevin looked dubious for a moment but then leaned against the counter again. "Okay. I trust you."

Dean winked. "Awesome. Now, if you're going to watch me play Betty-Crocker, you might as well help out. Dice those onions for me."

Kevin picked up a knife from the rack and got to work.

Dean was just forming the meat into patties when his phone rang in his pocket. He wiped his hands on a cloth and checked the caller ID.

"Jody," he murmured.

"Who's Jody?" Kevin asked, looking up with interest.

Dean waved him to silence as he answered the call. "Sheriff, what can I do for you?"

"Sheriff," Kevin whispered. "Kinky."

Dean turned his back on him.

"Hey, Dean," she said.

"What's up?"

"Well, this is kinda awkward, so I'll come right out and ask. What are you boys hunting and why are you leaving bodies behind without giving me a heads-up?"

"We're not hunting…" Dean's heart sank as he understood what she was saying. "You've seen Sam."

"Uh, yeah… Well, I saw the back of him. He was running pretty fast at the time, away from me."

Dean sighed and raked a hand through his hair. "Tell me what happened."

"I got a call about a disturbance in Falls Park about thirty minutes ago. I get there and find Sam with the body and a big-ass blade in his hand. He was…" Her voice trailed off.

"What was he doing?" Dean urged, possibilities running through his mind.

"Holding her hand maybe?" She sighed. "I don't know what he was doing to be honest, but when I called out to him, he booked it out of there double-time."

Dean tried to make sense of what he was hearing. Sam was in Sioux Falls. Someone was dead, probably an angel but not necessarily—who knew what Gadreel did for shits and giggles. They finally had a possible location for Sam, but they couldn't do a damn thing about it because Castiel's wings were clipped and Dean couldn't leave Kevin…

Dean swung his fist out and punched the wall.

"Dean, what's going on?" There was worry in her voice now. "Are you boys okay?"

"Sam's not…himself right now," Dean said reluctantly. "Look, Jody, I don't know what to tell you. There's a bunch of crap going on, and you're best off out of it."

"Okay, but what about the body? Is this thing gonna grow horns or fangs or… I don't know whatever else wackadoo crap can happen. Is it safe to let the coroner deal with it now?"

Dean tried to make sense of his thoughts. "Okay. Have a look on the ground around the body. Are there ashy marks?"

"Yeah, now you mention it, there are. What are they?"

"What's left of the thing's wings," Dean muttered. "The body's okay. You can have whoever you want do whatever they want, and it'll all be good. No one will know it's anything other than human."

"Right," she said. "And Sam, should I help him? There was a lot of blood trailing after him."

Dean swallowed. Sam was hurt. He forced himself to take a calming breath. Sam was hurt, but Gadreel was there. He could just add it to the list of crap to heal, right?

"If you see him, you go in the opposite direction," Dean cautioned. "He's… Like I said, he's not himself."

"Okay. I'll take care of the body," she said. "And you take care of Sam."

"You know it," Dean said briskly then cleared his throat. "I'm sorry about this, Jody. As soon as Sam's… When we can, we'll make a trip back to visit."

"You make sure you do that," she said fondly.

Dean ended the call and leaned his head back against the wall. Sam was alive. That was the only positive thing to come from that conversation. Sam, surely with Gadreel riding the switches, was alive.

* * *

><p>The angel was lax in his own protection, Castiel thought. Little better than a human. In fact, Adriel acted like a human, tugging his coat close around him as he crossed the seedy street and went into the bar. It was not Castiel who had taught him to act like this. The only acts Castiel had taught him were those of war.<p>

Castiel took better care as he walked to the bar, checking for other angels with sweeping glances that took in the homeless man on one corner and the prostitute selling her wares on the other. As he passed the vagrant, he dropped a bill into the man's empty cup. He had not forgotten his time on the streets and the way his stomach would knot with hunger.

The sounds of revelry reached him even before he opened the bar door, humans enjoying their end of month paycheck. Castiel felt that this conversation could be conducted peacefully; otherwise, he wouldn't be going in. He would not risk human life for the sake of his errand.

He felt the borrowed grace spark as he went inside, a reaction to the presence of another angel. It was not as strong as it would have been had he still been in possession of his own grace, but it was there, and Adriel would be feeling it, too. Castiel watched his shoulders stiffen as he approached, though he didn't turn to see who it was. Castiel had taught him better than that.

"Hello, brother," he said as he sidled up to Adriel at the bar.

Adriel caught his eye in the mirror behind the bar. "Castiel." He moved to the side slightly, stretching his arm, and the tip of his blade appeared at his wrist.

"You have no need of that," Castiel said calmly. "I am not here to fight."

Adriel did not sheathe his blade, but he did look interested. "Then why are you here?"

"I need your help."

He eased himself away from the bar and stretched pointedly. "The great Castiel needs my help. This should be good. What can I do for you?"

"I need to see Bartholomew. I heard you were a part of his faction now."

"Had to hitch my wagon to someone, didn't I?" Adriel said. "After you abandoned us."

"I did not abandon anyone," Castiel said patiently. "I was overwhelmed by the Leviathans. I did not know who I was for a long time."

"Yes, I heard about your little sojourn as Emmanuel, and then there was Crazy Castiel, and then—"

"I am more than aware of my history," Castiel said with a bite of anger.

"Yes, but what about the rest of us and what came after?" Adriel asked. "They pulled you out of Purgatory and you became Naomi's pet, constantly closeted with her in that corner of Heaven. And then Metatron – you latched onto him without giving us a backward glance."

"Us?"

"The faithful," Adriel spat. "The forgotten. I fought for you, Castiel, we all did, and we waited for you to return to us, to lead us again, but you were too busy with your new friends."

"Metatron tricked me, and Naomi brainwashed me!"

"And the Winchesters?" Adriel asked. "How did they stop you from coming to us, hmm? They didn't. You _forgot_ us, those that remained faithful to you and your ideals. We were shunned by the rest of Heaven because of our loyalty to you, and you repaid us by forgetting us."

Castiel truly hadn't known about that. He'd believed his faithful soldiers had rejoined their garrisons and returned to Heaven's business after he had fallen to the Leviathans. The thought that there had still been angels craving his guidance and support after all he had done was shocking.

"I apologize," he said quietly.

"It doesn't matter now," Adriel said. "Bartholomew has shown me that you were never the angel we thought you were. You were not the leader he is."

"I am glad you have found someone worthy to follow," Castiel lied. Bartholomew would make a terrible leader, bloodthirsty and impulsive as he was. He was who Castiel needed to see now though, so he had to stow his feelings.

The bartender, an attractive woman Castiel guessed to be in her early thirties, came to them then. She smiled at Castiel and asked, "Can I get you something, hon?"

Adriel stood up and threw a couple bills down on to the bar. "Thanks, but me and my friend are just leaving."

Castiel smiled politely at the woman and then followed Adriel out of the bar. They walked for a few minutes in silence, coming out of the seedier side of the area and onto a respectable street. They approached a tall building with vaulted windows of stained glass.

"Bartholomew has taken over a church?" Castiel asked doubtfully.

"Church, studio, the works," Adriel said. "This is Buddy Boyle's empire. Well, it was. Now it is Bartholomew's."

"And Buddy Boyle – what happened to him?"

"He's still ministering, just does it in person now. Makes it easier for us to control which angels get vessels. We don't want to swell Malachi's ranks. Buddy is now playing host to Glynn. He's set up in Texas right now."

Castiel frowned. "You are telling me a great deal, Adriel."

"More than I should, I know," Adriel said. "That's because you're going to have no one to share the information with."

Castiel knew that he should be afraid, Bartholomew could kill him, but he had made the choice to seek out the faction leader knowing that it was a risk he had to take. His hope was that Bartholomew would be intrigued enough by him long enough to let him say his piece and make his offer.

Adriel pushed open the heavy door and strode inside. Castiel followed, looking around the spacious lobby and noting the empty reception desk and a security guard at the elevators.

"Human?" he murmured.

"Not a suitable vessel," Adriel answered. "Devout though, and willing to help. There are only so many of us now, and we cannot waste those that we do have on menial tasks. George there makes the set-up a little more believable if any of Buddy's old friends come by."

George bowed his head to Adriel as he summoned an elevator and stepped inside, Castiel following. Tinny music played as they sped upwards, and Castiel was reminded irresistibly of the time he has spent as Steve the Sales Associate. When he had been human, he'd wanted nothing more than to be an angel again; now that he was an angel, he appreciated the life he'd had.

When the elevator opened, there was an angel waiting for them outside double, pale wood doors with his arms crossed over his chest. Castiel's eyes widened as he recognized him beneath the vessel.

"Mikhail?"

Mikhail nodded. "Hello, Castiel. Surprised to see me?"

"Yes," Castiel said simply. Mikhail had been one of Raphael's staunchest supporters. When Castiel, powered by the Purgatory souls, had returned to Heaven to kill Raphael's army, he'd been told Mikhail had died.

Mikhail smiled grimly. "Naomi was good for more than subterfuge and mind control. She also had a vested interest in maintaining Heaven's numbers. Those of us that knew of her existence found shelter within her ranks."

"I am glad to see you alive," Castiel said.

"I'm sure."

Castiel made to step around him, to get to the doors, but Mikhail blocked him and held out a hand. Castiel frowned.

"I would be remiss in my position if I was not to disarm you before allowing you through," Mikhail said.

Reluctantly, Castiel allowed his blade to slide into his hand and handed it over. He was at their mercy now, Mikhail and Adriel; one angel he had sought to kill and the other he'd abandoned. If either were to strike now, he would have nothing to defend himself with but his wits. He didn't fear for his life though. He'd faced worse odds before.

Mikhail opened the door and Castiel stepped inside. He heard the door close behind him as his eyes found the angel he had sought.

"Bartholomew," he said respectfully.

"Castiel," Bartholomew replied, unconcealed glee in his voice. He stepped forward with his arms wide and pulled Castiel into an embrace. "It is good to see you."

As he pulled back, Castiel looked around the expansive room with its paneled walls and thick carpet. His eyes came to rest on the opposite wall and a frown creased his brow. "Bartholomew, what is that?"

Bartholomew smiled. "My wall of trophies. Every one of them my own kill."

It was a glass cabinet with over a dozen angel blades inside, mounted on pegs. "You killed all those angels?" He could not wholly keep the disapproval out of his voice.

"Relax, Castiel," he said airily. "They were all affiliated with Malachi and therefore enemies. I don't kill for the joy of it." He fixed Castiel in his gaze. "Unlike some."

"I never killed for joy," Castiel said.

"No? Perhaps not, but you did kill. I remember, Castiel, heaven swarmed with the corpses of Raphael's armies, those that did not escape you that is."

"Yes," Castiel said thoughtfully. "I admit I was surprised to see Mikhail again."

"Great angel," Bartholomew said. "He's my new right-hand. He sees my vision."

"I'm glad you have someone you can rely on."

"As am I. You have no idea the undertaking involved in our operations. I have a hundred angels in my command, and we're all working towards a common goal."

"What goal would that be?"

"Finding Metatron and opening Heaven," Bartholomew said. "And the betrayer, of course. I have angels on the ground searching, and the more technologically savvy are searching the humans' surveillance systems for them. Metatron has been sighted on Earth three times now."

"And Gadreel?" Castiel asked tentatively. "Have you seen him?"

"We had a possible sighting…" Bartholomew frowned. "Is that why you are here, Castiel? You are looking for information on the Winchester?"

"It is a part of my reason for coming," Castiel said. "We are trying to find Sam Winchester so we can separate him from Gadreel."

Bartholomew shook his head slowly. "And here I was thinking you had finally come back to yourself. I thought perhaps you had decided where your loyalties lie for once. But here you are, chasing the Winchesters like a housewife with wayward toddlers."

"That is not the only reason," Castiel said. "I am an angel as much as ever, and I am resolved to open Heaven for all our family, but Sam Winchester must be freed."

"Why?" Bartholomew asked, confusion creasing his brow. "He was not your charge. He was never the righteous man. So why do you care?"

"Because he was _not _the righteous man," Castiel said, "and yet he saved us all regardless. He overcame the taint that was placed in him at the age of six months and saved the world."

Bartholomew narrowed his eyes. "It's more than that, though."

"He is my friend," Castiel said simply. "He would die for me, and therefore I would die for him."

At that moment, the door flew open and Adriel burst into the room, blade drawn and eyes wild. "For him!" he bellowed. "You would die for _him_!"

"Adriel!" Bartholomew barked. "Lower your blade!"

Adriel paid no attention to the order. He surged forward, driving Castiel back against the wall with his blade aimed at Castiel's throat. "After everything I did, everything I gave, you choose the boy with the demon blood!"

Castiel could see the resolution in Adriel's eyes. He would not be reasoned with. He would kill. Bartholomew was standing against the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest and his expression politely interested. In the doorway stood Mikhail, watching the scene but showing no sign he would participate. Castiel was on his own.

Adriel pressed the blade in slowly, until the cool tip was against Castiel's throat, and he was reminded of Metatron's blade breaking his skin, drawing his grace. The memory angered him. He was not going to be made human again. He was not going to die. He was going to fight.

He grabbed Adriel's wrist and twisted it behind his back in a half-nelson. He used his free arm to smash the glass of the cabinet and pull one of the blades free. He pushed Adriel away from him and brought up the blade in his fist. "I do not want to kill you, brother," he said. "But I will."

Adriel spat on the ground. "Kill me now as you should have then!"

"Please, don't make me do this."

Adriel jabbed with his blade, but Castiel parried it away easily. Adriel tried again, stepping to the right, and Castiel countered him.

"Do not force my hand, Adriel," Castiel said.

Adriel was beyond reason. It was in his eyes, this madness. The war, the fall, being abandoned, and now hearing Castiel's admission was too much for him. He had lost his reason. He came forward again and again, only to be stopped by Castiel's blade, until it was one time too many. Castiel couldn't stop him and couldn't halt the movement. Castiel was preparing to parry the blow, but Adriel kept coming. Castiel's blade slid into his stomach and out of his back. He pulled back his arm and Adriel slid from the blade to the floor. Castiel stared at him for a long moment as his broken wings became ash on the carpet and the blood pooled beneath him.

Bartholomew clapped his hands together once and then stepped forward. "Castiel, you haven't changed at all. I was worried, you see, that you had softened with your time among the humans, but look at you, as bloodthirsty as ever."

"It was self-defense," Castiel said coldly. "I didn't want to kill."

"As I knew you wouldn't," Bartholomew said. "But you did it anyway."

Castiel frowned at him. "Was this all a setup?"

Bartholomew smiled. "In part. I knew you were looking for me, and when one of our agents saw you in the area, I placed Adriel in your path. I knew he had a score to settle with you, and I knew it was only a matter of time before your presence rattled what was left of his brains and he attacked."

"You sacrificed your own angel to prove a point?" Castiel asked.

"Think of it as a test. I wanted to know if you were the same angel I used to know. And you are. I can use that angel, Castiel. There are still those that are faithful to you. With you at my side, they will join us."

Castiel shook his head dolefully. "I cannot join you, Bartholomew, I have made a vow to help the Winchesters, and I will not betray that."

"But we're your family," Bartholomew said, confusion creasing his brow.

"So are they," Castiel said. "Just of a different sort."

"You're choosing them over us?"

"No. It has always been my intention to see our family home again, and I will do that, but that is not exclusively my mission anymore. There are other people that matter."

"Winchesters," Bartholomew spat.

Castiel turned away. Mikhail was standing by the door still and he was holding Castiel's own blade. Castiel took it from his unresisting hand and dropped the one he was holding, wondering idly which of his fallen family it had belonged to.

"Castiel," Bartholomew said as he walked through the door. "If I see Gadreel, in whatever vessel, I will kill him."

Castiel turned back to face him. "Don't make an enemy of me, Bartholomew. You and I are working toward the same goal, but if you hurt Sam, we will not be. You know the Winchesters' history as well as I do. Those that upset them tend to die bloody."

Bartholomew scoffed. "I am not afraid of them."

Castiel smiled grimly. "Neither were Michael and Lucifer, and see how that ended for them."

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><p><strong>So… Bart's a jackass, Adriel's dead and Cas is a BAMF. Good times. We will return to Sam and Gadreel in the next chapter.<strong>

**In other news, the story is almost completely written now. I have just finished the final full chapter, so I only have the epilogue to go now. It stands at 30 chapters and around 80k words — how does that sound SPN Mum?**

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	13. Chapter 13

**Thanks to Jenjoremy for beta'ing this. Also thanks to SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for all their help.**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Thirteen<strong>_

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><p>'<em>He's been imprisoned since the dawn of time. Gadreel was the sentry who allowed Lucifer into the garden.'<em>

* * *

><p>As fast as Sam was pushed back, he was pulled forward again. One moment he was in the bunker, shouting to be out and wondering what was happening to <em>his<em> body, and the next he was shoved forward to awareness again. There was pain and confusion and sticky wetness coating his arm but what caught his attention was the woman on the ground in front of him.

He dropped to his knees, blood soaking through his jeans, and searched her for a sign of life. There were none, and he knew she was gone the moment he looked at her properly. There was a deep gash in her throat and she was slick with blood. Her blue eyes were open, wide and staring and empty. Sam brushed a hand over her face, closing her eyes. She was pretty, with wavy blonde hair. Standing up she wouldn't have come to his shoulder. She was young. Sam guessed around eighteen or nineteen, an adult by law alone. Her arms were sprawled at her sides, and Sam picked up her right hand and held it. He didn't know what he was feeling, other than immense sadness at the way she had died and the fact it had been his hands that had done it. She was an angel, he could see the traces of ashy wings on the ground, but that didn't necessarily make her bad. And her vessel, she was sweet and innocent looking, pure almost. She should never have been dragged into this fight.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

A flashlight played upon him and Sam's head snapped up. Someone was coming, jogging towards him.

"Sam?" a familiar voice called.

Sam lurched to his feet and took off running. He stumbled at first as lightheadedness swept through him, but he felt a surge of something, grace or adrenaline, and he pushed himself on.

He heard Jody calling to him as he fled, but he didn't, couldn't, stop. He didn't know what Gadreel would do if they were caught, but he didn't want to risk Jody's life because of him.

When he got to the bike, he threw his leg over and gunned the engine in quick succession. He roared away from the sidewalk and set out blindly, not knowing where to go but knowing he had to flee.

* * *

><p>He was just on the Iowa state border when he stopped again at a Gas-n-Sip. It was an old place, and the restroom was located in the back, so he parked the bike at the side. He grabbed a clean shirt from the duffel, silently thanking the fates that it was a mild night and he'd not been wearing his jacket. The restroom door was locked, as he had suspected it would be, but with a few twists of his lockpick, the cheap mechanism clicked open, and he slid inside.<p>

The blood had soaked through his sleeve, and it squelched against his skin as he pulled it off. He doused the clean side in water from the faucet and used it to mop up his arm. When the blood was gone, he got a look at the skin beneath. There was a red line, but it looked weeks old, almost completely gone to scar rather than wound.

"Thanks," he muttered.

'_That is why I am here," _Gadreel replied.

"Yeah," Sam said. "What about dumping me into consciousness next to your kill? Is that why you're here?"

'_I am… sorry for that. I was overwhelmed.'_

Sam scoffed. "You were overwhelmed by one kill? What kind of angel are you?"

'_It was my first.'_

Sam stared at his reflection in the grimy mirror above the basin. He looked as stunned as he felt.

"What do you mean it was your first?"

'_Not here. Finish cleaning yourself up and then take us somewhere safe. We can talk then.'_

"How do I know you're not just going to stuff me back in the bunker as soon as we're somewhere safe?"

'_You will have to trust me, Sam.'_

Sam sighed and pulled on his clean shirt, balling up the damp and dirty one. He went outside again and dropped the ruined shirt into a trashcan.

"Fine, but I want answers."

'_And I will give them to you. It has been a long time for me._'

"A long time since what?"

'_Since someone wanted to hear my story.'_

* * *

><p>They were in a mom and pop motel in Rock Rapid, Iowa before Sam was satisfied they were far enough from Sioux Falls for Jody to give up looking for them, if she even had. He knew that Dean would know that she had seen him by now, and he would know about the angel being killed. What would he think? Would be blame Sam or Gadreel? Would he even care? Dean hated most angels on principal. Still, he wasn't hunting them for sport. Not that Sam and Gadreel had been either. That angel had happened upon them, or they had happened upon it, Sam wasn't sure which. However it had happened, an angel had been killed at Sam's hands, and surely Castiel at least would care about that.<p>

Sam let them into the room they'd paid for and slid the chain across behind him. He dropped his duffel down on the end of the bed and then sat on the rickety chair set in front of the small TV.

"So… uh… you ready to talk?" he asked.

Gadreel did not respond in words, but Sam felt himself being tugged back into his mind. Instead of arriving in the bunker, Sam was in a park exactly like the one they'd recently left, only it was lit by the sun now rather than the moon. It was a nice change from the empty bunker, but Sam felt exposed.

"I thought you would prefer this," Gadreel said, and Sam turned to see him walking towards him across the grass. "Shall we sit?"

A bench appeared behind them and Sam sat down. He rested his palms on his knees and looked at Gadreel. "You said you were going to explain," he said, making it sound like an accusation.

"I will," Gadreel said heavily. "I want to, I just…it's hard to know where to start."

"Start with the dead angel. Why did she attack us?"

Gadreel looked away. "She didn't. She wasn't even aware that we were there until it was too late. She was so lost in the place that she missed the signs."

"Then why is she dead?" Sam asked.

"Because it was us or her, and I chose us. I told you, Sam, that we were marked men. It was better that I attack first than allow her to gain the upper-hand."

"But why would she attack at all? Who are you, and why are the angels hunting you?"

Gadreel sighed. "I told you once that was a story for another time."

"This is another time," Sam said. "C'mon, you've got my whole head to sift through. Every memory, every thought. You know me more completely than anyone does, so give me something in return. Tell me who you are."

Gadreel was silent for a long time, so long Sam was almost sure he wasn't going to answer, and then he spoke, sounding as though every word cost him something. "Close your eyes, Sam, just for a moment."

Sam did as he was bidden, waiting impatiently with his hands clasped between his knees.

"Now stand and see."

Sam opened his eyes and gasped. Falls Park had been replaced by… It had to be Heaven. It had to be the angels' own place in Heaven. Nowhere on Earth was this perfect. He was in an endless meadow of long grass that rippled in the slight breeze. The air was fresh and clean, and had, Sam was sure, never been touched by exhaust fumes or chemicals of any sort. He wanted to hold his breath to keep himself from tainting the place.

"It's beautiful," he whispered.

Gadreel nodded. "It is not Heaven, though, Sam. This is the Earth as it was when I first knew it." He seemed to steel himself. "Now, turn around."

Sam did and the breath he had been reluctant to expel left him in a rush. He had thought the meadow was beautiful, but it was nothing compared to this place. A ring of trees bordered it, oak, ash, palm and fir. Trees that should never share a climate were gathered together and flourishing. The air was not too warm or too cool, it just was, a soft play on his face, making his skin tingle. The scent was heady but not overwhelming, flowers and green leaves and freshness combined. Somewhere nearby there was water rushing, creating a babble that sounded like a song. There was more noise, soft laughter and voices.

Sam looked around for the source of the sound, wanting to see, but there was no one.

"You will not see them," Gadreel said regretfully. "They are not for your eyes, and this is just a memory."

"A memory of what?" Sam asked. "Is this Heaven? 'Cause if it is, I'm filing a complaint. What was the deal with showing us the bargain basement version of memories when this was on offer?"

"This is not Heaven," Gadreel said. "This is the Garden of Eden, or rather my memory of it."

Sam dragged his eyes reluctantly from the vision in front of him and turned to the angel. "This is incredible."

"Yes." A flash of pain crossed Gadreel's face. "It truly was."

Sam could feel the garden drawing his eyes again, but he forced himself to keep looking at Gadreel. "Why are you showing me this?"

"Because this is where it started and ended for me. Have you seen enough?"

Sam didn't think he would ever be able to see enough, but he nodded and looked back at the meadow.

"My name is Gadreel, and I was the sentry for the Garden Eden."

Sam exhaled slowly. "Wow. VIP Angel. That's, uh, wow."

Gadreel smiled slightly, sadly. "I was a VIP. I was one of God's brightest, and as such I was given the task of protecting his greatest creation. For a long time I stood guard here, protecting them and keeping evil from entering, but as you have seen, it is hard to keep your wits when faced with that level of perfection."

Sam stayed silent, even though his mind was reeling.

"I spent a long time looking out at the meadow, always alert for anything that would threaten Adam and Eve, but nothing came. Time had no meaning to us, and together we enjoyed God's creation. They had the garden and I had the meadow. And then they started to speak. I would hear their voices and their laughter, and I coveted what they had. I was accustomed to spending my time among a multitude of angels and God Himself. I was alone, and I struggled. One…I suppose you would call it a day… I was tempted too far. I turned from the meadow and saw the garden for the first time. That was my failure. I was entranced, Sam. I had never imagined such beauty; I couldn't look away. I told myself that it was okay; I was still doing my duty, just in a different way. Surely I could observe better by looking in."

"But…" Sam cleared his throat. "Lucifer got in, didn't he?"

Gadreel bowed his head. "I was lax in my duty. I spent too long looking in at them, and I didn't see him coming. The next thing I knew, the serpent was there with Eve and the fruit had been tasted. I tried to stop her, I swear I tried, but it was too late."

Sam looked out at the meadow. Though it was beautiful, he could feel the pull of the garden at his back, drawing him in. He wanted to look again, just to catch another glimpse. He could easily understand why Gadreel had failed.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I know you are aware of the punishment for Adam and Eve. My own punishment was very different. You know, there wasn't even a prison within Heaven before my failure. There was no need of one. I was the first to fail and not fall. Prison was created for me, and for a long time I was the only occupant."

"You were locked away?" Sam asked. "But…"

"Mine was a terrible crime, Sam," Gadreel said.

"You made a mistake. You couldn't know what would happen."

Gadreel smiled. "And yet I did it anyway. You of all people should understand. You did not know what would happen when you killed Lilith, and yet you still carry the guilt of that now. Perhaps it is not as potent as it once was, you have paid some of your debt during your time in Hell, but in those moments that you are alone, or are faced with the result of your actions, such as when you met that young hunter, Tracy, you feel immeasurable guilt. Can you not understand why I might feel the same?"

Sam shook his head dolefully. "So, God put you in jail. For how long?"

Gadreel looked pained. "I was expelled from Heaven with the other angels by Metatron's spell. I was never granted reprieve."

Sam's eyes widened. "You're telling me you were in prison from the time of Adam and Eve till six months ago? That's just… unbelievable."

"Perhaps, but it is true nonetheless. I spent many millennia wondering whether the punishment fit the crime, and I never came to a decision. When I was in jail, it seemed grossly unfair, but when I came to earth and saw what had become of humanity, I thought perhaps it wasn't enough. Because of me, my Father's wonderful creation has been tainted, His divine children corrupted and ruined. I don't think there truly is a punishment fitting for me."

Sam was overwhelmed with regret for the angel's fate and incredulity that he was even feeling anything like it. This was the angel that had stolen peace from him, the angel that was going to betray them to Metatron had he not had a change of heart. The angel that had not known family or affection in millennia.

"You feel pity for me," Gadreel said with a quirked eyebrow. "That's unexpected."

"No kidding," Sam said. "I just can't believe… When I used to pray, when I thought God was still running the switches upstairs, I thought He was this magnificent being, capable of endless forgiveness."

"No, Sam, that is just a lie people tell themselves. God is not forgiving."

"Yeah, I get that. Believe me, I do. It's just… Even when He refused to step up to the plate to stop the apocalypse, I thought of all the incredible things He'd done before, and thought maybe He wasn't so bad. But it turns out He was a deadbeat all along."

"No," Gadreel said thoughtfully. "Not a deadbeat. Just a being with limits for compassion."

"You're defending Him?" Sam asked.

"Do you not still defend your father, despite his failings?" Gadreel asked. "You were expelled for wanting an education. That is not a crime."

"The worst my father did was tell me not to come back," Sam said.

"No, Sam. The worst your father did was drive you away from your brother. You lost everything as surely as I did. The difference is that my crime was deserving of punishment. Yours was not."

Sam shook his head. He understood what the angel was saying but he didn't agree. Four years at college without his brother didn't equate to millennia of prison, even though it had sometimes felt like it. It had ultimately been his choice to walk away from them both. John Winchester had given Sam a choice that God hadn't given Gadreel.

"We should return to the motel," Gadreel said. "It is draining to maintain the illusion of my memories, and I am weakened from the fight still."

"Okay," Sam said, taking one last look at longing at the meadow. He chewed his lip for a moment. "Gadreel."

"Yes, Sam," the angel said, a smile curving his lips.

"Thank you," he said, "for showing me this."

Gadreel smiled. "You're welcome.

As the meadow rippled and was replaced by the bunker, Sam smiled too. He thought perhaps he understood the angel better now, understood why he had taken Sam over. If Sam had been locked away for as long as Gadreel, he would seize any opportunity for freedom, too, even if it came as the cost of someone else's.

* * *

><p><strong>So… We got Gadreel's side of the sad story at last. I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I did writing it. It was intimidating as hell to tackle the subject but very rewarding. <strong>

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	14. Chapter 14

**Thanks to Jenjoremy, Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for being the best beta/pre-reader/support team ever.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Fourteen<strong>_

* * *

><p>'<em>The horn of Gabriel... one of Dad's little party favors that I never got around to messing with.'<em>

* * *

><p>Dean was impatient. Castiel had called from the road that morning and said he was on his way back, but that was hours ago and there was still no sign of him. He'd tried calling back, but the phone had gone straight to voicemail. It wasn't that Dean was worried exactly, of all the people Dean cared about now, Castiel was the most able to protect himself, but Dean hadn't excessively worried about Sam either, and look how that had ended.<p>

Kevin was scribbling away on a notepad and checking something on the tablet again and again, but when Dean asked if he had news, he merely shrugged and said, "I'm not sure yet."

Dean had a book of angel lore open in front of him, but the words were blurring in front of his eyes. He had read it all before anyway. They'd exhausted all the books referencing angels in the past weeks, searching constantly for anything that would help them, but there was nothing. Castiel said there was a spell to trace an angel, but it required the essence of the angel, and they were all out of essence, whatever that was. In desperation, Dean had tried the angel summoning spell, but it didn't summon the angel as much as ring a heavenly doorbell for them, and Gadreel was much too smart to let himself be caught like that.

Dean was considering heading to the kitchen and making them something to eat, more out of boredom that hunger, when there was the sound of a rhythmic knock on the main door.

"Finally," Dean muttered, getting to his feet. He took the steps two at a time and started unbolting the door.

Kevin started squawking about secrets knocks and making sure it was Castiel, but Dean already had the door open and was looking at the angel standing on the threshold, laden with grocery bags.

"What took you so damn long?"

"Shopping," Castiel said simply.

Dean grabbed one of the bags and carried it down the stairs, Castiel's heels clicking behind him.

"Hey, Cas," Kevin said.

Castiel's eyes drifted from Kevin to the tablet and he asked, in the fashion of what had become his '_hello',_ "Is there any news?"

"None on Sam," Kevin said, avoiding Dean's eye, as if Dean was some delicate flower that needed to be protected from reminders of how he'd screwed up. "But I might have something on the tablet. Give me an hour and I should have something for you."

Castiel nodded thoughtfully. "We will give you an hour."

Dean smiled, knowing that when the hour counted down, Castiel would be peering over Kevin's shoulder, trying to make sense of his notes.

"Come on, Cas," Dean said. "Let's get this stuff packed away." He could hear the chink of bottles in the sack he was carrying and a beer sounded perfect.

He walked through to the kitchen and set the sack down on the counter. Castiel did the same and they worked in silence for a few moments, pulling out items and stowing them in cupboards and on the shelves.

"Want a beer?" Dean asked, hesitating with a bottle in his hand, trying to decide whether to give Kevin one, too. He'd earned it, working like he was, but he couldn't handle his drink and Dean wanted tablet answers before Kevin got too soused to deliver.

"No," Castiel said. "I would like to talk though."

Dean leaned against the counter and popped the top off his own beer. "You about to tell me where you're been these past few weeks?"

"I was searching for angels," Castiel said. "Bartholomew's faction to be precise."

"Bartholomew." Dean raised an eyebrow. "The big honcho that's running the angels now?"

"One of the honchos. He is openly at war with Malachi and Metatron."

"Does that make him a good guy?"

Castiel shook his head. "Most definitely not."

Dean took a swig of his beer and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "So why'd you go looking for him?"

"Because I thought he could help Sam."

Dean took a moment to let that sink in, and then he asked, "And can he?"

Castiel fixed his gaze determinedly on the coffee maker. "No. We were friends once, and I thought perhaps I could persuade him to put out a capture instead of kill order on Sam and Gadreel, but I was unsuccessful. Things… happened while I was there, and we did not part on good terms."

Dean shouldn't have been surprised really. Winchester luck ran in one direction and that was to crap, but having another angel on their side would have been helpful. They had to be careful with Castiel's stolen grace so as to not drain it too fast. Dean didn't know what constituted draining, but he figured fighting was a part of that. Having another angel around to help them control Gadreel when they finally found him, and they would find him, would have been good.

"In fact," Castiel said. "His last vow to me was that he would find Gadreel and kill him, no matter what vessel he was in."

Dean's teeth clicked together, and a pain shot along his jaw. "Great," he said bitterly. "So, basically, you managed to piss him off and now he's gunning for Sam."

"I don't think so," Castiel said. "You are underestimating your own name. Winchester is not just a powerful name among hunters; it is among angels, too. You have done many great things between you, and that is remembered. Why else do you think Naomi was so determined that I should kill you?"

"Because she was a vicious harpy with a stick the size of the Impala up her butt?"

"Well, yes," Castiel smiled slightly, "but also because of the threat you posed. There isn't much a human can do to hurt an angel, but you and Sam always seem to find a way to do it nonetheless."

Dean knew Castiel thought he was complimenting him, but he couldn't help but think Castiel had screwed up. If he hadn't gone after Bartholomew, Gadreel might have remained a vague goal on his to-do list. Now Gadreel, and Sam by association, was at the forefront of his mind. He bit his tongue to keep himself from saying something harsh that Castiel didn't deserve.

"So," he said airily. "What else did you get up to on your little trip?"

"I saw an old friend."

"That's cool. Any chance he's willing to join us and Team Free Sammy?"

Castiel shook his head. "That would be impossible. I killed him."

Dean choked a laugh. "Geez, Cas, you're not good at the whole building allies thing, are you?"

"You wouldn't have wanted Adriel as an ally," Castiel said seriously. "He was insane by the end."

"An insane angel," Dean said thoughtfully. "Well, that's just awesome."

* * *

><p>At the end of Kevin's assigned hour, Dean and Castiel went into the library and waited for him to stop staring at the tablet long enough to talk. Castiel stood at the end of the table and rested his hands on the back of a chair while Dean sat perched on the table beside the tablet.<p>

"Okay," Kevin said hesitantly. "I'm not sure, so don't get too excited, but I think I might've found something."

"Don't oversell it, Kev," Dean said dryly.

"I'm trying not to," Kevin replied seriously. "For all I know this is nothing… or it's something but the wrong kind… or—"

"Will it get that winged asshole out of Sam?" Dean asked brutally.

"I don't think so. But it might get the angels home."

Castiel's head snapped up. "You have found the key to reopening Heaven for the angels?

"Maybe. It says something like '_Strongest united, the call of home' _and there are instructions for a spell. It might open Heaven." The young prophet grimaced and rubbed his eyes wearily. "Or it might make all our heads explode. I don't know. I just thought it was worth discussing."

"What is the spell?" Castiel asked, eyes wide and pupils dilated.

"There's a bunch of ingredients, blood, griffin feathers and bones of a fairy among them, and some Enochian you have to say." He handed a sheet of paper to the angel.

"Do you have these things?" Castiel asked, turning to Dean.

"Maybe," Dean said. "Probably in the lab, but… Cas, wait!"

Castiel was already in motion, striding away from them. He paused for a moment and looked at Dean. "Wait for what?"

"Shouldn't we at least discuss it a little first?"

He frowned. "Discuss what? This could be the answer we're looking for. This could be the way to unite and strengthen all angels against Metatron. Dean, I could go home."

Dean hesitated. He didn't want to say it, it was selfish, but he was thinking this could be what could lose him his brother for good. Gadreel was nearly impossible to track as it was with only a motorbike to get him around. How much harder would it be if he could go upstairs to hide?

He looked into Castiel's earnest face, and he couldn't bring himself to say it. Castiel deserved this. He had earned his chance at home. "Nothing, Cas. You go get the stuff and we'll try to get you home."

Castiel hesitated for a moment, staring deep into Dean's eyes, and then he disappeared down the hall.

Kevin cleared his throat, and Dean caught his eye. "What's up, Kev?"

"You sure about this?" Kevin asked.

Dean shook his head slowly. "As sure as I ever am. Hey, if the angels flap off home, it'll make things a hell of a lot easier for the rest of us."

"And Sam?"

"I'm not worried about Sam," he lied. "He'll be fine, too."

It was, at least, what Sam would want, Dean knew. He would get Castiel and the rest of the feathered rat pack home before he did anything for himself. That was what they did. And besides, Dean still wasn't completely convinced Sam hadn't meant what he said at Rufus' cabin. He wanted to believe Sam had been forced into a corner and did what he had to do, but the memory of Sam leaning over him and spitting out the words, _'I am done' _was hard to get out of his head.

Castiel came back into the room then, hands full of small paper sacks. "I will need a bowl," he said distractedly.

"On it." Dean went to the kitchen and took one of the large stainless steel mixing bowls from the cupboard. He took a moment to just breathe alone, to feel what was happening and what it could mean, before shaking it off and going back into the library.

Kevin was sketching a symbol on the pad of paper and pointing out something to Castiel. "I think it needs to go on a wall or the floor or something. It needs to be physical.

Castiel took the bowl from Dean and began pouring in the ingredients, barely glancing at the symbol on the paper as he did.

"Whoa, Harry Potter, pay attention to what you're doing there," Dean cautioned.

Castiel paused for a moment, one paper sack still clutched in his fist and then he nodded. "I apologize. I am just…"

"Ready to get back to the mothership?" Dean said. "I get it. I just don't want all our heads exploding because the ingredients aren't in right."

Kevin snorted. "I wasn't serious about that, Dean. I just meant I wasn't sure it'd work for what we want. I highly doubt God would give us a spell that'd kill us."

"One day, when we've got time and a bottle of whiskey and a couple juice boxes, I'll fill you in on the history on the Winchesters and God, and then you can decide for yourself."

Kevin look intrigued, but Castiel drew Dean's attention then by drawing a blade and slicing across his palm.

"Hey," Dean said. "What are you doing? That's not going to help the whole draining grace thing, is it?"

"I need angel blood," Castiel said. "And I am the only angel here."

Dean sighed. He had no argument for that. He watched as Castiel fisted his hand over the bowl and blood dripped down over the ingredients.

"We need to decide where we're going to do this," Kevin said. "I don't know if it will open heaven in the greater sense, so you can just… fly back, or if it will open a portal or something."

"I vote for outside," Dean said. "No offence, Cas, but I don't want a flock of your buddies marching through here on their way home. It's called a secret base for a reason."

Castiel nodded. "I think am ready."

He picked up the bowl and headed up the stairs to the door. Dean and Kevin followed. It was on the tip of Dean's tongue to tell Kevin to stay inside, but he realized it would be grossly unfair. Kevin had been the one to do this; he'd cracked the code. He deserved to be there when it all came together. Besides, if he didn't see daylight soon, Dean was going to have to get him vitamin D supplements.

Castiel was all set to daub the symbol on the door, but Dean caught his arm and said, "Maybe a little further, Cas." He pointed at the abandoned power plant that was built over the bunker, and they trudged up the hill to it. "You sure you're ready for this, Cas?" he asked. "There's gonna be a lot of angels to face up there, and we know at least some of them blame you for what happened."

"I am hoping they will also accept that I led them home," Castiel said. "And if they don't, I have a hiding place, don't I?"

"A home," Dean corrected. "Whenever you need it."

Castiel smiled and turned to the dirty bricks. He dunked his hand into the pool of blood and started to daub on the wall.

Kevin handed over a scrap of paper and Castiel nodded and read aloud. "Vmd ol Virg Toantoh Olad."

The bloody symbol seemed to come alive. It hummed and a bright white light spread along it, making it glow. Castiel stepped closer to it, smiling brilliantly, until his face was bathed in its light.

"Is it working?" Kevin asked in a whisper.

Dean shrugged. "Cas?"

"Home," Castiel breathed. "It's Heaven."

Dean raised an eyebrow. Whatever was making Castiel act like this wasn't having the same effect on him. It was cool enough to look at and there was maybe a sound, or the absence of silence that meant it was too high for Dean to hear, but that was it.

Castiel brought a hand up and held it to the light as if about to touch it.

"Cas," Dean said, catching Castiel's arm. "What are you doing?"

Castiel pulled his hand free and pressed a finger to the symbol.

For a moment, Dean expected something to happen, for Castiel to be pulled through the light maybe, but nothing happened other than Castiel pulling his hand back and frowning at his bloody fingertip.

"It is not home," he said quietly, sounding distraught.

"But we hear it," a soft, female voice said.

Dean spun on his heel and saw two people standing at the foot of the hill. One, a female, had rich mocha skin and full lips. The male was a huge skinhead. Though they were dressed casually, the silver blades at their sides made it clear what they were.

Angels.

* * *

><p>He wasn't going back, that was what Sam kept telling himself. Just because they were so close to the Kansas border they were almost sitting on it, it didn't mean anything.<p>

He hadn't even been aware of his path when they'd been on the road. He'd just chosen roads at random, seeing where he ended up. Gadreel hadn't commented either, so Sam guessed he either hadn't noticed or was unconcerned, knowing that Sam knew better than to go back to the bunker.

It wasn't until he saw the sign welcoming him to Kansas that he'd turned the bike in the road and headed back into Nebraska. They'd come to a town and Sam had decided he'd ridden enough for one day. He wanted to stop somewhere to eat and get a decent night's sleep. Gadreel hadn't even commented on that desire, when before he would always point out that Sam didn't need rest now. Gadreel could take over and Sam could retire to the bunker. It wasn't same, though, as lying in a real bed and letting his mind switch off for a while, even as Gadreel remained alert and prepared for danger.

The town they'd come to was so small that it only had one gas station, one bar and restaurant combined, and one motel on the edge of town. Sam had checked them into the motel and dumped his duffel before heading out for food.

The bar was rowdy and full, but the waitress was kind and she'd finagled a salad out of the cook whose main talent was apparently flipping burgers. Sam sat in the corner, sipping his beer and toying with the scraps of food left on his plate with his fork.

'_What are you waiting for? I thought you wanted to rest?'_

Sam didn't answer aloud. If Gadreel really wanted to know, he would just look into Sam's head to get the answer. The truth was that he was delaying returning to the motel because it felt so normal, so right, to be here in this bar. He could pretend Dean was at the pool table or dart board, as he had been a hundred other times, and Sam was just waiting for him to return with the wad of cash he'd won from some poor mark and a beaming grin in place. It wasn't the same as really having his brother with him, but it was the closest he could get right now. Everything was so wrong that something as simple as dinner in a bar felt like the best thing. The mere fact that he was out and in control was something to be appreciated.

Since Gadreel had told him his story, things had been easier between them. Sam thought he understood the angel better. They weren't bosom buddies, but there was a kind of fellowship between them. They had both ruined the world at one time or another. That understanding came in the form of Gadreel giving Sam more time in control and more choice in his time spent in the bunker.

Gadreel didn't really understand humans, though. He must have thought he was being kind, but the first time Sam had found himself in the bunker again, it had been with the company of Dean, Kevin, Castiel, and Bobby. It had almost broken Sam to see the grizzled hunter again. It had been almost three years since Bobby died, and Sam missed him every day, but to spend time with an illusion of him had been too much to handle. He wanted the real Bobby, the one that would give him hell for letting an angel in and what he had done to Dean, not the Bobby that had greeted him with a smile and bottle of beer and asked which movie he wanted to watch. That just wasn't right.

He had turned away from his faked family and bellowed for Gadreel until the angel appeared. Sam had asked, almost begged, him to take them away, and Gadreel had obliged, but not before he had voiced his confusion. "I thought you would be happy to see them."

"If I could create an illusion of your time in Heaven before the garden, with all your friends there, would you want it?" Sam had asked.

"Yes," Gadreel had said at once.

Sam had sighed. "I guess that's what makes us different." He had been among illusion before, a hallucination, and seeing his family and knowing it wasn't real felt a little too much like Lucifer to him.

Drawing his mind from the past, Sam tossed a few bills onto the table to cover his beer and meal and got to his feet. He wasn't ready to sleep or concede his body to Gadreel, but he wanted somewhere quiet and private, where maybe he could talk to the angel for a while. He weaved his way through the other patrons to reach the door. The cool night air hit him as he opened it and he burrowed a little deeper into his jacket.

He had set out along the road toward the motel when it happened. He felt himself being shoved aside, pushed violently, but not into the bunker. He remained aware of what was happening around him, but he wasn't in control of the switches.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Is it another angel?"

"No," Gadreel breathed through Sam's lips. "It is… home."

Sam was confused and more than a little worried as Gadreel started along the street. He walked fast, and then moved into a jog and eventually into a run. Buildings whipped past them and Sam's feet hammered the sidewalk, but he could do nothing to stop it. He felt the urge to take control again, to expel Gadreel, but something held him back, some fear of what was happening. He could take control just in time to be killed by another angel.

"Can you hear it, Sam?" Gadreel asked. "It is calling me."

"Stop!" Sam said harshly. "It's got to be a trap."

"I cannot stop. This is Heaven. I'm going home."

Had they done it? Had Dean and Cas and Kevin found a way to reopen Heaven? Was he about to be abandoned while Gadreel went home? He wondered what happened to vessels when the angels were in Heaven. Sam had always assumed that the angels were only in their true forms when home, but what happened to their vessels in the meantime? Would Sam be stowed somewhere like luggage until Gadreel needed him again?

They came to an alley between two large buildings. The walls were dirty brick and the cracked concrete ground smelled foul. There was a rusted door leading into one of the buildings and a bright light streamed from inside.

"Home," Gadreel gasped, hurrying towards it and yanking it open.

"Gadreel, please," Sam begged. "Turn around. Walk away. We need to be careful here."

Gadreel didn't answer. He stepped inside.

It took a moment for Sam to take in what he was seeing. There was a bright, blue-white light emanating from a symbol on the wall, illuminating the room. From his peripheral vision Sam could see crumpled bodies against the wall and on the ground, but Gadreel didn't seem to notice them at all. His gaze was fixed on the symbol on wall. He walked towards it and held his hands up as if warming them. For a moment, time seemed to stop as they both looked at it, and then the door clanged closed behind them and Gadreel spun on his heel. Sam saw the satisfied smile on the new angel's face and he cursed loudly and fluidly.

"Hello, Gadreel."

Gadreel sighed in what sounded like defeat. "Metatron."

* * *

><p><strong>So… things do not look good for the heroes of this story. Things from here on out are going to get pretty dramatic, so buckle in and enjoy the ride. <strong>

**I have a rec for you. The wonderfully talented Agelade has a series called Lustra that starts with Earth Angel and continues to the just posted Sanguis Sanctus. She is planning a series of fics with each story working as an episode. **

**Summary: **When Dean can't convince Sam to stop moments from completing the Trials, they discover a bigger problem that will take more than a spell to fix. Between fallen angels, freshly human Cas, bickering prophets and demons, Abaddon, and deadly monsters, Sam and Dean will have to mend their relationship a bit before they can even start to save the world this time. Featuring hell trauma for both boys, lots of canon-level violence, and many many BM scenes.

**I cannot overstate how much I love her stories. Her writing is incredible and her characterization is spot on. Do yourself a favor and go look up Earth Angel — you will find her profile under my favorite authors — you won't regret it. While you're reading – and loving, I guarantee it — leave her a review. She works so hard on these stories and they are deserving of your support. Tell her I sent you and she might post the next story a little faster for me – I'm jonesing for her next update.**

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	15. Chapter 15

**Thanks and squishy hugs to Jenjoremy for beta'ing and to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for helping me getting the ideas out.**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Fifteen<strong>_

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><p>'<em>He made us an offer... join Metatron, fight for him, and those that did would one day be allowed to return to heaven.'<em>

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><p>It was just too perfect. Gadreel had been so enraptured by the horn that he didn't notice Metatron standing behind the door.<p>

Metatron hadn't dared imagine catching such a big fish on his line. He had expected lesser angels, foot soldiers, but here was his erstwhile second-in-command returned to him at last, or close enough. Of course there had been lesser angels, too, and his ranks had now risen to a dozen angels at his command. It was a pitiful number compared to what he heard Bartholomew had raised, but it was a start. Every angel counted in the larger scheme of things, but none so much as Gadreel. Metatron knew now that when he had made the decree that Gadreel must be killed over angel radio, he had been a little rash. He should have given Gadreel a little longer to come around to his way of thinking. He had been angry though, and every God was wrathful. It was only natural that Metatron should be, too.

He pushed the door closed and watched, amused, as Gadreel spun on his heel. "Hello, Gadreel."

Gadreel sighed. "Metatron."

The moment was perfect. Metatron could see defeat in Gadreel's eyes, and he savored it. He had earned that satisfaction in the weeks Gadreel had evaded him, leaving him to suffer with the next-to-useless Ezra in his place.

He stepped forward, pleased to see Gadreel inch backwards until he was pressed against the wall. The light of the horn pulsed behind him, making him look ethereal.

"I have been looking for you for a long time now, Gadreel," he said.

Gadreel nodded. "I heard your decree. I thought you would have come for me yourself though. I didn't expect you to send the unfaithful."

"Gods never get their hands dirty. You should know that better than anyone. They use floods and angels and prisons to punish. Besides, I acted in haste."

"And have you reconsidered now?" Gadreel asked, taking a step away from the wall as he found courage somehow. "Are you here to kill me yourself?"

"Perhaps. I am undecided."

That was the truth. Metatron's new position as God made him want to smite in revenge, but at the same time, he saw what an asset Gadreel could be, if only he could overcome his squeamishness about killing. Before Metatron decided what would happen next, he needed to know what had happened before.

"You failed me, Gadreel. Why did you betray me?"

Gadreel took a deep breath and looked around the room, his eyes coming to rest on a dead angel crumpled against the wall. Metatron had extracted her name as Mariah before he had been forced to kill her. She had taken the vessel of a young woman with pale skin and ebony hair. She was beautiful in a strictly human way, but now she looked tragic in death, with the ashy remains of her wings spread on the wall behind her. Metatron saw the convoluted tragedy, but he felt nothing. She had refused him; therefore, she was dead.

"I believed it was wrong to kill…" Gadreel said slowly.

"And what do you believe now?" Metatron asked, genuinely curious.

"I don't truly know. I still believe it is wrong to kill Kevin Tran. He is a young man who has committed no crime."

That was a matter of opinion, Metatron thought. Kevin Tran had affiliated with the Winchesters, and as such was an enemy. The last time Gadreel had brought him news, before he became conflicted about killing, he had said Kevin was working on the angel tablet nearly constantly, working to undo what Metatron had done. He didn't think that logic would appeal to Gadreel though, so he tried a different approach.

"We are at war, Gadreel. There are always casualties in war."

"Soldiers. Kevin Tran is not a soldier."

Metatron shook his head indulgently. "You haven't used your time on Earth to research much of the way the world changed after your failure, have you?"

"I saw much of it in Sam Winchester's mind."

"Then you should have seen that the real casualties of war are the civilians. They die by the thousands but are given no honorable funeral the way soldiers are. Kevin Tran would have been a terrible casualty of war."

Gadreel looked pensive. "Not my war."

"No? It is a shame that you failed to kill Kevin really," Metatron said cunningly. "I planned to reward that with the death of a soldier. Do you remember Thaddeus?"

Gadreel stiffened. "I remember."

Metatron smiled. The reminder of Gadreel's jailer had elicited the reaction he was hoping for. It showed Gadreel wasn't completely lost to him yet. There was still anger there that could be transformed into wonderful murder. Gadreel could still be the soldier Metatron needed him to be. He just needed the right motivation.

"I was going to deliver him to you next," Metatron said. "He was to be your second kill."

"Where is he?" Gadreel asked through gritted teeth, the fire of hatred dancing in his eyes.

Metatron shook his head. "Why do you want to know? Do you truly believe I would let you go now and kill him?"

That was exactly what Metatron was going to do, if he got the right answer from Gadreel that was. He would let him seek out Thaddeus and end him. It would serve two purposes. It would satisfy Gadreel and bring him around to Metatron's side, and it would also end the affront to good taste that was Corey the pop star.

"You are assuming you will be the victor," Gadreel said.

"You think we are going to fight?" Metatron laughed.

"I can think of no other outcome. You will not let me go in peace, so we will have to fight."

Metatron nodded thoughtfully. "And you believe you will win?"

"I believe I have a chance."

Metatron thought a show of power was required before Gadreel said something that would make even a working relationship impossible. He spread his wings at his back, allowing his true form to bleed through. The dual power of his own grace and Castiel's made for an awe-inspiring sight.

Gadreel sucked in a breath. "What did you do, Metatron?"

Metatron smiled. "I imbibed another's grace. I am twice the angel I was before, suffused with power. There has never been another like me. I hazard a guess that I could even overpower an archangel now were they not all dead and trapped."

There was a moment in which Metatron thought he would attack anyway, go down fighting as it were. Gadreel's blade slipped into his hand and his fingers curled around it, and then, inexplicably, he shook his head and sighed. "What do you want from me, Metatron?"

This was the moment Metatron had been waiting for. "I would like to give you the same choice I gave the other angels, the same choice I once gave you. Join me and one day return to Heaven, or die."

It seemed an obvious choice to Metatron, but Gadreel hesitated before answering. "And what is the price of my return to heaven? Who must I kill this time?"

Metatron felt a surge of excitement. It was going to work. Gadreel was going to join him. "There are two deaths I require of you," he said. "One, an angel, a soldier, and the other… well, I suppose you would call him an innocent with your twisted logic, but I call him an enemy."

"Kevin Tran?"

Metatron was so tempted. He wanted the prophet dead, but he didn't think Gadreel would accept if he tried to force that command on him again. He had another in mind, an enemy as much as the prophet, but hopefully a far easier kill for Gadreel to stomach.

"No, Gadreel. I want you to kill Sam Winchester."

Gadreel was silent for a long time. His eyes swept the room, taking in the angel corpses dotted around. He seemed to be having some kind of internal debate, and Metatron could guess what it was. He could see that Sam Winchester was an enemy, but there was always a certain kinship between an angel and its vessel. Metatron had felt it himself.

"Very well," he said eventually. "I will kill Sam Winchester."

"Are you sure?" Metatron asked. "This isn't just an attempt to get away from me again, is it?"

"No," Gadreel said. "I will kill him. It will be a mercy. He has been ready for death for months now. I am merely giving him what he wanted before I inhabited him."

Metatron clapped his hands together. "Wonderful. Gadreel, I am truly delighted. You will not regret this choice. Together, we will return to Heaven; you will have freedom again, and then we will set ourselves to work, bringing the other angels, the worthy ones, home again.

"Who is the angel I must kill? Thaddeus?" Gadreel asked, a small smile gracing his lips.

"No, your predecessor, Ezra. He is next to useless, and I have given him more chances than he deserves. It will be an easy kill."

Gadreel nodded. "Of course. I will seek him immediately."

"No need to search," Metatron said. "He will be waiting for me. I will take you to him. I would like to see the infernal nuisance dealt with."

Metatron also wanted to be there to see Gadreel follow the order this time. If he had insisted on following last time, he would have seen that Gadreel would make his escape. He wouldn't make the same mistake again.

Behind Gadreel, the light of the horn dimmed and died, and the sound of Heaven faded. No angels would be called to it now. It would just be a mystery for the police to attempt to investigate. Perhaps they would think it was some kind of satanic ritual. They could never know it was in fact a heavenly one.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

Gadreel nodded and stowed his blade again. "Yes, Metatron. I am ready to serve."

It was music to Metatron's ears. He pulled open the door and gestured Gadreel out ahead of him. The noisome alley made Metatron shudder. Humans were truly foul. Why they insisted on using alleyways as restrooms was beyond him. He hurried onto the street and breathed in the slightly fresher air. Gadreel fell into step beside him, and they walked together, looking like two friends enjoying an evening stroll. If it weren't for the fact that they had a place to be and someone to kill, Metatron would have suggested they visit the bar he'd seen on Main Street. It had been a while since he had someone he could talk to, at least someone of a similar intellect. Ezra didn't come close, and it would be nice to shoot the breeze for a time. Perhaps, when Gadreel had completed his assigned tasks and returned to his original vessel, they could. Metatron wasn't vain, vanity being a symptom of pride and pride being a sin, but he was appreciative of himself. He thought he had an air of intellect and handsome features in his vessel when alone. It was when his vessel was overshadowed by someone like Sam Winchester or Castiel that his attractions fell to the sideline. He considered insisting that Gadreel take a different vessel than his last, one less handsome, but that seemed petty. Besides, what was human adulation when he was a god? Soon, there would be plenty of angels that would bow to him, and that would be infinitely more pleasing than human attraction.

"In here," Metatron said when they reached the cast iron gates of the small cemetery.

Gadreel followed him in and they made their way to the Anderson Mausoleum where Metatron had left Ezra. He pushed open the door and stepped inside.

"Sir," Ezra said, sighing with relief. "I was concerned."

"I was delayed," Metatron said, "speaking with an old friend."

Gadreel entered behind him, drawing his blade. "Hello, Ezra."

"Sir!" Ezra squeaked. "The betrayer is…"

"I am aware," Metatron said impatiently. As if he could have been followed all the way from across town by Gadreel and not notice. Ezra really was a numbskull.

Ezra backed away, his blade dropping into his hand but his eyes wild with fear. "Sir?"

"Don't worry," Metatron said with a smile. "This will only hurt for a minute, then you will be too dead to notice."

Gadreel smiled as he stepped forward, his blade raised and pointed at Ezra's throat. "My name is not betrayer," he said grimly. "I am Gadreel, and I shall be the one to lead our family home."

Ezra struck out with his blade, but Gadreel brushed it aside almost lazily with his own. He walked forward, driving Ezra back until his shoulders were pressed against the wall, and then in a lightning fast movement, he drove the tip of his blade into Ezra's throat.

It was a messy death. Blood spurted from the wound. Metatron, sensible as ever, had stayed back, out of the range of blood, but Gadreel took a spray of it to his face. He pulled the blade back, and Ezra fell to the floor. Seeming completely unconcerned, Gadreel wiped his sleeve across his face, and turned to Metatron.

"Well done, Gadreel. I admit I wasn't sure you would be able to do it in the end, but you surprised me."

"Will you tell me where Thaddeus is now?"

"Soon, brother. Just as soon as Sam Winchester is dealt with and you have found a new vessel. It shall be your… reward for a job well done."

Gadreel smiled grimly and toed Ezra's corpse. "One down. Two to go."

"Oh, no, Gadreel," Metatron said fondly. "There will be more than three deaths… many more. You will soon learn that freedom for us comes at a price."

"It is no matter," Gadreel said stoically. "I am more than ready."

Metatron almost laughed. This was just too perfect. "In that case, we should move on. As the Winchesters are so fond of saying, we've got work to do."

* * *

><p><strong>So… Sammy is kinda screwed, right? That is unless we can trust Gadreel. Show of hands, people, who thinks he's got something up his sleeve?<strong>

**Sorry about the Metatron POV. As fun as he is to write — his head is a twisted place to be — it makes you feel dirty. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	16. Chapter 16

**Thanks to Jenjoremy for the awesome beta job. Thanks also go to SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for all their help and support.**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Sixteen<strong>_

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><p>'<em>Look, I'm sure you're a nice person and that you mean well, but "inevitable" – that's a fighting word where I come from. There's always a way.'<em>

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><p>Gadreel had lied to Sam. He had pretended he was going to kill Metatron, but he had never been completely sold on the idea. He wanted him dead; after all, Metatron had put a target on his back for every angel in existence, but he didn't want to be the one to do it. He was afraid. Metatron seemed so powerful, so absolute, that it seemed impossible for a simple seraph to be able to end him. His plan had been to remain within Sam until another angel, Malachi or Bartholomew perhaps, did the job for him.<p>

The lie hadn't bothered him at first. Sam had just been his vessel, no more no less, but then he had shared the story of his fall from grace and that had changed things. Sam had understood. He even had felt pity for Gadreel. No one had ever done that before. Even Abner, Gadreel's only friend for seven centuries, hadn't fully understood. He had never actually forgiven his actions. He had merely seen past the crime to befriend Gadreel, though it had always been between them, the elephant in the room. Sam had understood though. He had meant what he said. He could not lie to Gadreel, not with his whole mind an open book. It had been the greatest gift anyone had ever bestowed on Gadreel.

He had tried to tell himself that he had done more than enough for Sam Winchester to make them even; he had saved his life after all, but knowing that had been Dean's desire rather than Sam's took the shine from it. He had also spared Kevin Tran's life, but that had been his own choice, not remotely related to Sam. The truth was that Sam had done something remarkable for Gadreel and there was no way to repay that.

In an attempt to make his own guilt less, Gadreel had turned his attentions to Sam's physical and mental wellbeing. He had given Sam the gift of Bobby Singer, but that had fallen flat. Sam hadn't been remotely pleased to see him added to the illusion. With no other clues to what would please Sam, he had redoubled his efforts to help his physical health. It wasn't easy, though, as the damage was so great. The trials had ripped him apart inside, scorching organ and flesh and bone. Gadreel had merely done damage control in the past when he was traveling with Dean, and then, when they'd parted, he focused on himself instead. Gadreel was completely healed from the damage he'd received during the fall, but when Gadreel assessed him the day after he had told his story, Sam was little better that he had been the moment Gadreel walked into his hospital room. Gadreel had made that his priority, and Sam was improving, but that was before they had left the bar and Gadreel had caught the call of home.

* * *

><p>It was the bodies that did it. Gadreel recognized none of them, as their grace was dead and gone, but their wings were there, telling the stories of what they once were. God had loved humans above all others, and so had given them free will, but he had loved angels, too, and he had given them wings. Those wings were now ashes against the dirty floor and walls.<p>

The realization came to Gadreel that this wasn't right. This couldn't be right. So many dead angels could never be what God wanted for his children. With that realization came another: Gadreel had to stop this. He had to kill Metatron. He was the cause of all this suffering. Perhaps that was the way to restore his good name. Rather than being the one to lead his family home as he'd thought, he would destroy the nemesis of all angels.

He wasn't a soldier; he had never been in battle as many of his brethren had been, as there had been no need for battle when he was free, but he had killed once and it hadn't been nearly as hard as he'd thought it would be. True, he had been repulsed by the action, and it had driven him to hide for a while, to come to terms with it, but he _had_ done it. It should be even easier to kill Metatron as he had no affection for him. There was no brotherhood between them. Metatron was the enemy. Gadreel must kill him or die trying.

* * *

><p>"<em>Very well," Gadreel said. "I will kill Sam Winchester."<em>

"_Are you sure?" Metatron asked. "This isn't just an attempt to get away from me again, is it?"_

"_No. I will kill him. It will be a mercy. He has been ready for death for months now. I am merely giving him what he wanted before I inhabited him." _

Sam was shoved backwards into his mind, and he fell hard into a chair. He was stunned. Even if there had been someone there to listen, he could not have found the words to explain his emotions.

Gadreel had lied to him.

He had thought they were developing something, some bond or mutual respect. When Gadreel had shown Sam the Garden and what had happened, Sam had taken it as a show of trust between them, enhanced by his reaction to it. He had felt pity for the angel, the first person to ever do so according to Gadreel. How could Gadreel repay that with his death?

It was wrong and unfair… and Sam wasn't ready.

He _had _been ready, in that cabin with Death, but that had been before he was forced to see what a mess the world was in with the angels falling. Then, he had been ready to have some peace, but now he couldn't accept it knowing what he was leaving behind. There was still work to do. He couldn't die now, not when the last thing he had said to his brother, broken and bleeding on the ground, was that he was done. That couldn't be Dean's last memory of him. And Kevin and Cas… That couldn't be the last time he saw them, without even the chance of a goodbye.

He paced up and down the room, his hands coming up to tangle in his hair. He wished for the illusion, for Dean, Castiel and Kevin. He wished he could say goodbye to them in some form. He wanted Bobby, to tell him he was on his way and to have a cold one ready. He wanted anything but this fake bunker with blank books and empty rooms.

He found himself striding along the halls, and going into Dean's room. He picked up the photo leaning on the lamp. It was of Dean and their mom. She was beautiful and Dean was young, untouched by the supernatural. He stared at it with longing. He would never see Dean, but he wondered if perhaps he would see her. Ash hadn't found her in Heaven before, but that was a long time ago. Perhaps there was a chance he would be able to find them both this time, his mother and father. He could apologize and tell them both he understood why they had done what they'd done. Why Mary had made the deal with Yellow-Eyes and why John had raised them the way he did. He wanted to tell them he loved them both.

He dropped the photo onto the dresser and picked up another that had been hidden behind the first. It was of him and Dean, taken at Bobby's house. He remembered the day well. He remembered laughing at Dean's lame joke and Bobby clearing his throat. They'd looked up just as the older hunter had snapped the picture on his ancient camera, the same camera that had taken the last photo of Ellen and Jo alive. Maybe he would find them, too. With Heaven emptied of all angels, there would no one to monitor Sam's path. He could find them all, everyone he'd lost. That sounded like a better heaven than the one he'd seen last time.

He realized he was resigning himself to his fate, and a surge of anger swept through him. He hadn't done this, let Gadreel in again, to be killed by the dick-bag now. He would sooner die at his own hand than the angel that he had trusted enough to let in.

Dean would never get over this. He would have a tough time dealing with Sam's death under any circumstances, but he wouldn't survive if he thought he was the reason Sam died in the first place. Sam had to do something. But what?

The obvious answer was that he needed to expel Gadreel now and take his chances, but that would be dumb to the point of suicidal. Metatron was there, and if Sam's body didn't give up on its own without Gadreel, Metatron would kill him. He needed to be patient.

If he believed Gadreel when he said he'd been healing Sam, he would have a little time to work. Gadreel couldn't kill him as bodiless grace. He would need another vessel to strike the blow. As soon as Gadreel left him, Sam would run. He would get as far away as possible and hide. He still had the rib-etchings, so he couldn't be traced by any angel, even one who had possessed him. He just needed to hope Gadreel had been telling the truth. It was his only chance.

He looked down at Dean's face on the glossy paper and smiled slightly. "It's not over yet."

He went back into the library and sat down at the table. He rested his palms on the polished wood and waited. He had to look like he was accepting his fate and hope Gadreel was too preoccupied to go searching through his mind to work out what he was planning.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, maybe for Gadreel to leave him there and then without any explanation perhaps, but he wasn't expecting him to appear wild-eyed and wired after only a short time of waiting.

"We don't have much time," Gadreel said quickly. "I need to explain and act before Metatron figures out what I am doing."

Sam raised an eyebrow. This wasn't going the way he thought it would. He was expecting Gadreel to pull some explanation of how 'he had to do it' and how there was 'no choice' out of his butt, but he was looking at Sam as if he was being slow.

"And what are you doing?" he asked.

Gadreel stared at him for a long moment. "Saving your life."

Sam huffed a laugh. "I'd believe you if I hadn't just heard you tell Metatron you'd kill me."

Gadreel looked annoyed. "You would never have heard me say that had I not allowed you to be present to hear it. Think, Sam. If I wanted you dead, why would I have let you stay aware for so long? I wouldn't have warned you. I would have just killed you."

"Maybe you just forgot I was there," Sam countered.

"You infuriating, idiotic human! I am trying to save your life, Sam. I don't have much time. Metatron will come back for me if I do not meet him at the assigned place and time, and—"

"So, Metatron's gone?" Sam asked thoughtfully.

"He is gone for now," Gadreel said, then closed his eyes. "You cannot hide from me, Sam. I can see what you are planning, and it will not work. You cannot cast me out. You are not well enough yet to survive long without me."

Sam cursed inwardly. Gadreel apparently still had time to sift through his head and see what he was planning.

"Doesn't sound like I've got a chance either way," he said. "I can't cast you out and I cannot hide from you. What's to stop me casting you out and taking control now?"

"The fact you actually want to live. I could kill you here and now. I could tear your body apart from the inside out. It would not hurt me. I could kill you and then leave to find a new vessel. I won't though, because I _want _to help you, and you _need_ my help."

Sam shrugged, trying to look unconcerned while inwardly trying to make sense of what he was hearing. "Maybe I don't want your help."

"Now is not the time to be petulant. Besides, you have no choice. If I am forced to dump you in a motel and knock you out for the foreseeable future, I will. I am going to save you, Sam, and you have no choice in the matter."

"And if I cast you out?"

"Then you will die," Gadreel said simply. "Without a chance to make things right with Dean; you will never see him again. I am offering you life, Sam."

Sam stared into his fathomless eyes and tried to detect a lie. Admittedly, his track record for perceiving lies wasn't good. He had been fooled by Dean for months, and let's not forget Ruby, but he thought he believed Gadreel. Even if Gadreel was lying, Sam apparently wasn't slated for immediate death, and that had to be a good thing.

"Okay," he said slowly. "What do I have to do?"

"You have to take control for a while," Gadreel said. "I must focus on healing you as much as possible in the time we have, and I cannot do that while also focusing on the road. I only have a week before I must meet Metatron at the appointed place, and there is a lot of work to do."

"Gadreel," Sam said cautiously, "why aren't you killing me?"

"Because I know you, Sam Winchester. I know your likes and dislikes. I know your habits and loves. I know why you do the things you do, and I know I will need you in future."

"For what?" If he was being spared now so he could be a backup vessel in the future, Gadreel was in for a shock. He wouldn't let him in a third time.

"For killing Metatron." Sam's expression must have asked the question for him, as Gadreel went on. "I know now what I could not see before. When Metatron first approached me, I thought he was an acceptable choice to help me redeem my name. My Father was gone, and I had no one to lead me. But Metatron asked for a death I could not deliver, so I fled. He asked for another death, and again it was one I could not deliver, but more than that was the dead angels."

"There were a lot of them," Sam acknowledged.

"There were," Gadreel said. "Too many. I see now that a good name cannot be gained by killing others. It must be earned the right way. I will lead my family home, but I will do it the right way. I will find the way to Heaven and then I will kill Metatron, and Heaven will be home again. That will be my name's legacy."

Sam still wasn't sure whether or not he trusted the angel, but he knew his only chance at seeing his family again was to do as he was instructed now. He had to hope that Gadreel would keep his word.

* * *

><p><strong>So… How many of you thought Gadreel was going to screw Sam over? We're coming into the angstier side of the story now, so be prepared. <strong>

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	17. Chapter 17

**Thanks Jenjoremy for beta'ing and SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for their help and support.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Seventeen<strong>_

* * *

><p>"<em>I'm just a soldier."<em>

"_Bitch, please. You've been God more often than Dad has."_

* * *

><p>"Kevin, get inside," Dean snapped, keeping his eyes fixed on the angels.<p>

Kevin ran and Dean heard the door clang shut behind him. The angels watched him go with frowns, but they didn't make a move to follow. Dean cursed the fact that he'd come out practically unarmed. He had his gun tucked into the back of his pants, but shooting them would do nothing but piss them off. He should have brought an angel blade with him. He wouldn't make the same mistake again… assuming he survived this time that is.

"Berieah, Camael," Castiel said calmly. "What are you doing here?"

"We followed you," the woman said.

The hairs on the back of Dean's neck stood on end. So much for a secret bunker. He chanced a glance sideways at Castiel, but angel hadn't drawn his blade. He was staring at the other angels as if communicating with them silently, which Dean guessed he very well could be. He wondered if he could make it into the bunker and out again with an angel blade before they set upon Castiel. He didn't want to leave his friend, but two against one wasn't good odds in Castiel's favor, and the fact he didn't have his own grace couldn't help.

"Cas?" he asked softly, looking for reassurance.

"It's okay, Dean Winchester," the bulky man said. "We are not here to attack."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "And yet you're here with swords drawn."

"We weren't sure if we would be followed," the woman said. "And we weren't sure how we would be received. We merely wanted to be ready to defend ourselves. Camael said that we could trust you, though."

"Your mistake," Dean said.

"Dean," Castiel breathed, but Dean ignored him. He didn't care if he was breaking protocol or maybe being rude. These two had appeared out of nowhere, and as far as he knew, the angels all had their wings clipped, so that meant these two had followed Cas here or they knew about the place some other way—like from Gadreel.

"So what are you doing here?" he asked bluntly.

"We were called," the woman said. "We heard it and it drew us here. It's home."

Castiel shook his head sadly. "It is home, but it is not a door."

The man hung his head and looked forlorn. It was a soft, gentle expression for such an imposing man. "I thought…"

"So did I," Castiel said. "But we were wrong."

"Yeah, family reunion's cancelled," Dean said. "So off you go."

"Dean," Castiel said again, and Dean glared at him.

"We understand, Dean," the woman, Berieah Dean guessed, said gently. "Your experiences with angels have not always been good, but we are not here to trick or hurt you. We are just here because we want to help."

Dean raised a doubtful eyebrow. "You want to help us?"

The man, Camael, nodded. "We came here for you."

"Came from where?" Castiel asked. "Where have you been?"

"We were a part of Bartholomew's force," Berieah replied. "Foot soldiers for the cause. We heard what happened with Adriel. Bartholomew is fierce, now more than ever since you defied him. We had wanted to leave for a while, but we had nowhere to go. Malachi would kill us on sight for aligning against him, so we came to you."

Castiel sighed. "What protection do you think I can offer? I am not even half the angel you are now."

Camael shook his head. "You are Castiel. You lead an army. We want to join you."

"I once led an army," Castiel corrected. "I am not as I once was. I do not lead forces now. There is nothing to join anymore. I am no leader.

"You were," Berieah. "You will be again."

Dean huffed. "What makes you think that?"

"Because we know him, Dean Winchester. We remember."

"You remember the fall?" Castiel said bitterly. "You remember Heaven and the legions of dead angels I left behind?"

"We remember the apocalypse," Camael replied. "We saw you rise above all angels. We remember Sam Winchester; he rose above, too. We just want to help."

"You want to help Sam?" Dean asked doubtfully.

They both nodded.

"Cas," Dean said reluctantly, "can we trust them?"

"I do not believe they are working for anyone but themselves, but…" He stared into Dean's eyes, trying to communicate something.

Dean clapped his hands together. "Okay, me and Cas need to talk. You two wait here and…" He shrugged. "Talk amongst yourselves."

He tugged Castiel's arm and led him back to the door. Kevin answered his knock after only a second, which convinced Dean that he'd been lurking just beyond the door. He peered out to verify that it was them before stepping back and letting them enter.

"Why are they still here?" he asked quietly. "Why hasn't Cas killed them yet?"

"We're still on the fence about that right now, Kev," Dean said. "They might be able to help."

Kevin looked incredulous. "Help how?"

"Help Sam," Castiel said softly.

"Oh," Kevin whispered.

Dean turned to Castiel. "It's up to you, Cas; can we trust them?"

"Yes," Castiel said at once. "They are both good and honorable angels. I've known them a long time."

"No offence, but you said that about Ezekiel, too."

"And I was not wrong," Castiel replied stiffly. "Ezekiel _was_ a good and honorable angel; unfortunately he wasn't who was really here. Had I seen him when in possession of my own grace, I would have known it wasn't him. I can see Camael and Berieah though, despite their chosen vessels, and I know it is them. They are good, and they will help us, but, Dean, I cannot lead again."

Dean sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. He understood. Castiel's experiences as a leader hadn't exactly been stellar. He'd gone completely off the deep end when fighting Raphael and a bunch of angels had died. But… they needed help. Dean needed help. He had to get Sam back somehow, and kill Metatron, and reopen Heaven… Having a couple more angels on side had to be a good thing.

"Okay," he said slowly. "How's about we don't let you lead. We let them hang and help out, but no one gives the orders. That way we've got the backup but you're not responsible for them."

Castiel looked frustrated. "They are angels, Dean. They _need_ a leader. I tried to show them how to lead themselves after the apocalypse, but it was like talking to children. The need someone to guide them.

"I'll do it," Kevin said happily, smacking his hand down on the banister. "I don't mind giving orders and it'd be interesting to have someone actually listen to me for a change."

"I don't think that will work," Castiel said apologetically. "To their eyes, you are a child, Kevin. They will not see you as an authoritative figure."

Kevin huffed and muttered about being underestimated.

"It will have to be you, Dean," Castiel said somberly. "You must lead them."

Kevin's laughter was loud and annoying, but Dean barely heard it. "Me? What the hell am I going to do with a couple angels, and why would then even follow me?"

"Because they must follow someone," Castiel said. "I told you before, you are renowned by the angels. If there was anyone they would follow aside from me, it would be you."

"I can't do that," Dean said. Castiel opened his mouth to respond, but Dean spoke over him. "I know you don't want this, Cas, but you don't really have a choice. I didn't _want_ half the responsibility I've had shafted on me for years, but I've done it, for Sam, for you, for the world."

"I destroyed their world," Castiel said bitterly.

"Sam destroyed _everyone's_ world!" Dean said angrily. "And yet he carried on fighting. Just 'cause he screwed up once don't mean he stopped trying. You're scared, I get that, but you've got to man up and carry on. You believe Sam's running his own game now, keeping us safe, and I want to believe that, but you're going to have to back up what you've said by doing the same thing. If you're right, and Sam is still on our team, it means he's doing his thing alone with that psycho angel, without his family. You've still got that, so suck it up and help."

He hated that he was being forced to say these things, Castiel looked so hurt, but it was the truth. Castiel had to step up and do his part for them all. There were two angels up there offering help, and as much as Dean wanted to tell them to screw off and let him do it himself, he couldn't. He couldn't save Sam and the world and the angels alone. He needed help.

"Please, Cas," he said. "Help us."

Castiel looked mournful. "And what if I fail again?"

"I won't let you," Dean said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "It went wrong last time because you trusted the wrong people. Trust me this time and I'll help you. You can do this."

Castiel was silent for so long that even Kevin ceased his muttering about being kept in the dark and treated like a child to look at him.

"Very well," he said eventually. "I will help them. I will… lead, but I will only do so if they want me. I won't lie to them. They must know about my grace and my situation." He looked hopeful. "Perhaps they won't want to follow me after."

Dean shook his head and laughed softly. "Maybe they won't."

* * *

><p>"So he said nothing," Sam asked for what felt like the tenth time to Gadreel. "Nothing about how you're supposed to prove I'm dead?"<p>

It was a five days after their encounter with Metatron, and Sam and Gadreel were speaking face to face in the bunker for the first time. Sam had brought them to Erie, Pennsylvania, as per Gadreel's instructions, and they'd checked into a motel. It would have been easier for Sam if they'd stayed closer to Kansas, but Gadreel needed as much time in Sam as possible to help him, and this was where his last vessel resided. He had only two days now to get to his vessel and meet Metatron. It could be done, but only if his former vessel was obliging.

"Nothing," Gadreel said. "I told you, he merely instructed me to meet him within a week at the assigned place."

"And you're not going to tell me where that is?" Sam asked yet again.

"No, Sam. I have no doubt that if you knew where Metatron's base of operations was, you would attempt to storm the place. I have not put this much effort into keeping you alive merely so you can throw yourself under a metaphorical bus."

Sam threw his arms up. "You're expecting me to take a lot on trust, Gadreel."

"I have earned that trust. I have saved your life three times now, Sam. That should earn me a little secrecy."

"Fine," Sam said. "But I'm still not convinced you've saved my life this time yet."

Gadreel frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean what's to stop Metatron deciding he needs proof that I'm dead? He's taking a lot on trust too, Gadreel, especially since you ducked out on him last time. How do we know he won't insist on seeing my body?"

Gadreel hadn't honestly considered that. Was it possible that Metatron still had doubts about him? He had killed Ezra, that was true, but that had been a faceless angel, not Sam, a vessel he'd been within for months. There was a bond between an angel and its vessel. Gadreel's had taken time to develop, but it was there now.

"What do we do?" he asked.

"We need to stop him from wanting to see me. We have to provide some sort of proof that you did it."

"Should I perhaps cut off an ear and present it to him as a trophy?" Fury was rife in Gadreel's tone. "Or would you like me to actually kill you and deliver your body? I would do it, but I thought you had realized you wanted to live after all."

Sam sighed. "I _do_ want to live, but I am not afraid of dying either. I want to live for the right reasons. If I'm dying for a cause, it's different."

"And Dean?" Gadreel asked. "You wanted a chance to see him again, to apologize. How is that supposed to work if you're dead?"

Sam slammed his hand down on the table. "I do want that! I want it so bad, but more than I want that, I want Metatron dead! That's the difference. I don't mind dying for a reason, and I know Dean feels the same. If it saves others, we put ourselves on the line. That's how we've always done it, and I'm not changing that now."

Sam was infuriating. Just when Gadreel thought he understood him, he flipped the tables and baffled him all over again. How was the suffering of one worth more than another? If Sam died, Dean would suffer and vice-versa, so how was it better to save a nameless, faceless person at the cost of a brother? It made no sense. Even with Sam's thoughts and feelings to sift through, he had no understanding, though he knew Sam meant every word of it.

"We need proof," Sam said calmly.

"What kind of proof?"

Sam tapped his fingers against the tabletop, looking thoughtful. "A picture should do it."

Gadreel rolled his eyes. "Perhaps a well placed pool of blood or a rope around your neck?"

Sam shook his head, ignoring Gadreel's sarcasm. "It's got to be real for him to believe it. So we make it real."

"What are you thinking?"

"Okay," Sam said slowly. "I've got a plan."

* * *

><p>The vessel had returned to his home following his sojourn with Gadreel in New York, and he had resumed his position as bartender at the Antler's Pub. Gadreel felt him moving around inside, possibly preparing the bar for that day's trade. It was early, and Gadreel could feel no other souls inside, so that should at least save the inconvenience of dealing with others as he made his exit.<p>

The windows shattered as Gadreel approached, as incorporeal grace, and he moved smoothly through the gaping frames with their jagged glass teeth.

The vessel's eyes widened with recognition as he saw Gadreel approach.

"I am an angel of Lord, and I have need of you," he said. "Do you consent to allowing me entry?"

"Yes," the vessel breathed, his eyes fixed on Gadreel's movements, stretching and undulating in the air.

Gadreel poured himself inside through the open mouth, spreading himself throughout the body and taking control. The vessel was pushed back into a corner of his own mind as Gadreel stretched his shoulders and flexed his fingers. He took a moment to accustom himself to movement in flesh again before unbolting the door and escaping outside. The shattered glass had been noticed by pedestrians, and they gaped as Gadreel appeared.

"Hey, Anthony, what happened?" a heavyset man with a scrubby beard asked.

Gadreel ignored him. He set off along the street toward the motel where he had left Sam. The voices followed him, and he broke into a jog. He didn't think anyone would follow, and even if they did, what could they do to him? He was unconcerned for the vessel's reputation or standing among his fellows, as he would never be here again. Now he belonged to Gadreel.

He could see Sam moving around inside the motel through the window. He came to a halt at the door and knocked loudly. The door unlatched and Sam's face appeared. Despite having seen it deathly ill in a hospital bed months ago, it was still peculiar for Gadreel to look into the face he had become accustomed to seeing in a mirror. He still looked unwell, as if recovering from a long illness, but he was moving around with ease, and Gadreel was pleased. He had healed more than he thought possible in the short amount of time.

Sam stepped back and let him enter. He looked him up and down once, and then nodded. "Okay, you ready for this?"

"Are you?" Gadreel asked. "It's not too late to change your mind."

"Is there any other way of making it convincing?"

Gadreel shook his head reluctantly. "No."

"Then we're doing it."

Sam stepped back until his legs were pressed against the end of the bed. Gadreel didn't know why it mattered where he landed, as he wouldn't be able to feel it, but he didn't point that out to Sam. He would need all of his substantial courage to get through this.

Gadreel raised a hand and rested it on Sam's forehead. Sam drew a deep breath and closed his eyes. Gadreel felt the urge to close his own, too. He didn't want to do this.

"I'm trusting you, Gadreel," Sam murmured.

"I know."

Gadreel felt his grace build within him and he concentrated it in his right hand. He poured the grace into Sam, burning him alive. It only took a matter of seconds, but every one of them felt like a lifetime to Gadreel. Sam fell back onto the bed, his eye sockets blackened and empty and his arms flung out at his sides. His heart was silent and his lungs still. There was no life within him now.

Gadreel picked up the phone from the table and, swallowing hard, raised it to point at Sam. He clicked again and again from every angle, recording Sam's grisly fate. He double-checked that the photographs had copied to the phone and then stowed it in his pocket.

It was done. When Metatron asked if Gadreel had killed Sam, he could say yes with all honesty. He had proof.

He looked at Sam for a moment, wondering if he was doing the right thing, and then laid a palm on his forehead, reaching for his grace again. He could feel Sam's soul, the mangled thing that it had become, burning close, and he pulled it back into the body. Sam's lungs expanded and his heart beat again, but Sam stayed silent and still on the bed. Gadreel looked him up and down, seeing the grace knitted throughout him, keeping his damaged body alive.

He should have left then, the sooner to be with Metatron, but something kept him waiting. He needed to see that Sam was really okay before he went.

He had only to wait a minute before Sam tilted his head slightly against the blanket, but it was a minute too long.

Sam opened his eyes wearily and looked up at Gadreel. "Thank you," he breathed.

Gadreel nodded once and turned away. "Go to your brother, Sam," he said, "and tell them what is happening. I will come to you as soon as I can."

He heard the rustle as Sam moved, but he didn't look back. He opened the door and stepped outside, ready to go to Metatron, armed with proof.

* * *

><p><strong>So… How cute was Kevin? I love writing his character. Apologies for the (very) temporary character death. It's how it had to happen. <strong>

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	18. Chapter 18

**Thanks to Jenjoremy for beta'ing. Thanks to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all their help.**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Eighteen<strong>_

* * *

><p>"<em>See, you gotta stop thinking of Heaven as one place. It's more like a butt-load of places all crammed together. Like Disneyland except without all the anti-Semitism."<em>

* * *

><p>Metatron was standing beneath a streetlight in St. Louis. Gadreel sensed him long before he saw him; the power of his two graces was like a beacon. It warned Gadreel away, but he forced himself to keep moving towards the source of his discomfort. It was the only way.<p>

He eased the bike to a stop and climbed off. "Metatron," he greeted with a respectful bow of his head.

"Gadreel." There was obvious surprise and pleasure in his tone that was stifled when he spoke again. "I trust there were no problems."

Gadreel raised his arms at his sides. "The vessel let me in again instantly. He is devout and willing to give himself over to the Lord."

"And the Winchester, was he so easy to deal with?"

Gadreel thought honestly was the better way to go. He was already concealing so much from Metatron. It was better to keep the lies to a minimum. "It was not easy, but he has been dealt with. I killed Sam Winchester."

Metatron smiled fondly. "I am glad. I worried that when it came time to do it, you would falter. Where is he now?"

"I dumped him in Presque Isle Bay. I thought it was better to remove the evidence of what happened."

"Very wise, Gadreel," he said, though there was something in his eyes that made Gadreel think he was still being doubted. "Though I admit I am disappointed I didn't get the chance to see his corpse for myself. Defiling it would have pleased me greatly."

Gadreel pulled the phone from his pocket. Now was the time. "I cannot help you defile the body now, but if you would like to see it, I have this." His fingers moved smoothly over the keys as he pulled up the required menu and held it out.

Metatron's smile was wide and malicious as he looked at the pictures. "That is… beautiful work, Gadreel. I thought perhaps you would give him a merciful kill, but to use grace…" He shuddered. "I imagine it was excruciating."

Gadreel nodded stiffly. "It is over."

Metatron chuckled. "Don't be so glum, Gadreel. The bond of the vessel aside, he was not important, was he? And, as you said yourself, he was ready for death. It was a mercy killing in a way. He is out of his misery now, and you have proved your worth beyond any doubt."

Gadreel forced a smile. "Thank you, Metatron. Now, will you give me the details of Thaddeus' location? I would dearly like to make his acquaintance again." His hands fisted at his sides.

"I will," Metatron said airily. "But I thought there was something you would appreciate more than revenge."

Gadreel raised an eyebrow, confused.

"I am talking about Heaven, Gadreel," Metatron said indulgently. "How would you like to go home?"

Gadreel felt warmth spread through his chest, an intense feeling he hadn't in a very long time. It was hope. He was being given a chance to go home. He had thought it would come eventually, but not yet, not until Metatron was sure beyond any doubt of his fealty. Sam had been right to say he would need proof. The pictures were apparently enough of a show of obedience.

"Truly?"

Metatron chuckled. "Truly. You have earned this."

"I would like that very much."

Metatron laid a hand on Gadreel's shoulder, and he felt the giant wings opening behind him. They were in flight before he knew it, and he didn't even have time to decide whether it was a blessing or affront to be carried by another angel before they landed in a children's play park. As Metatron released him, Gadreel stepped away and looked around.

Metatron smiled as he drew his blade and Gadreel took a step back instinctively.

"Relax, Gadreel," he said, sounding amused. "I am not going to hurt you. This is for another purpose." He began to scratch the blade through the sand in the wooden pit, forming a complicated sigil. "This is the only way into Heaven now, and I am in control of it." He stepped back and admired his work, then said, "Open the way," in Enochian.

Light streamed from the sigil and Gadreel heard the humming sound that had signaled home to him for many millennia. He stepped forward without thought, into the light, and felt himself being lifted away from the park, away from humanity, toward Heaven.

* * *

><p>Metatron turned on the spot, his arms outstretched. "What do you think?"<p>

Gadreel looked around the spacious room. There were books lining the walls and a polished oak desk in the center. It wasn't somewhere he'd choose to spend time himself — he would choose an open field under the midday sun — but it was pleasant. The best aspect of it was the fact that it was filled with the gentle hum that resonated around his grace, the sound of home. Prison did not feel like this.

"I like it," he said.

"I knew you would," Metatron said, running his thumb along the spine of a book. "You're a man of taste and this room is the definition of tasteful. Now, you have the free run of Heaven, and it is a very different Heaven from the one you last knew. Every human soul here creates his or her own little niche. I like to visit Herbert Putnam's. He was the Chief Librarian of the Library of Congress in its greatest days, when books were appreciated for the magic they are. He is one among many that I can offer you. Where would you like to start?"

"I would like to… explore," Gadreel said carefully. "There are so many on offer, I would like to see what draws me." That wasn't entirely true; he knew where he wanted to go, but he couldn't tell Metatron. It was a risk to even consider it, but Gadreel was curious, and he thought perhaps he could do something for Sam this time.

"Very good," Metatron said with a nod. "There are things I need to do on Earth, so you will have free reign for a while. The Axis Mundi is just outside that door. Let it take you where it will."

"Thank you, Metatron," Gadreel said.

He turned and left the room through a dark wood door. He knew about the Axis Mundi, how it looked different to everyone, and he wondered what it would be for him. As soon as he caught sight of it, he knew it could never have been anything else. It was his meadow, surrounding the Garden, with a trodden path through the grass. He smiled slightly as he set out.

He didn't know how he would find the Heaven he wanted to visit; when he had last had freedom here, there had been no personal heavens to explore. He thought he would find his way though. Heaven would deliver.

* * *

><p>He hadn't know what form the Heaven would take, but he knew as soon as he saw it that it was exactly what he should have expected. A wrought iron arch bordered the property and junked cars were stacked around the house. Gadreel weaved through the cars and made his way up the few steps onto the porch. He didn't hesitate at the door; he just turned the handle and entered, as Sam had done hundreds of times before.<p>

"Sam, Dean, that you?" a gruff yet hopeful voice asked.

Bobby Singer was seated behind a desk stacked with papers and open books, just the way Gadreel had seen him in various forms in Sam's memories. He looked up as Gadreel stepped through the kitchen and into the Library.

"Is it ever them?" he asked.

"Who the hell are you?" Bobby asked in return.

"I am an angel. My name is Gadreel."

In response, Bobby yanked open a drawer and pulled out an old revolver. He aimed it carefully and pulled the trigger. Even if it had been real, it would not have harmed Gadreel, but it was Heaven, and therefore human weapons were obsolete. The bullet died in midair and fell to the floor.

Bobby looked mildly annoyed. "What do you want?"

"I came to talk."

"I've been here a while now, and I ain't yet had an angel make a house call, not even Cas, so what makes you special?"

Gadreel walked forward and sat himself down on the small, lumpy couch under the window. He leaned forward with his hands clasped between his knees and surveyed the old hunter. He didn't know how to articulate why he was there, what made him special. Curiosity and a need to do something good for Sam had brought him there, but he didn't think Bobby would accept that as a reason for a visit.

"Is it ever them?" he asked again.

Bobby shook his head, looking doleful. "Not so far."

Gadreel frowned. "For them to come, they would have to be dead. Are you so eager for that?"

Bobby looked like he would have liked to shoot him again. "You're new, so I guess you don't understand, but there is nothing I want less than those boys to be here before their time, but I don't know how long it's been. Time is hard to track here. One day it will be them, though, and I will be ready to greet them."

Gadreel smiled. "I believe they know that already." Sam had drawn Bobby into his created scenario when he was in a coma, and that Bobby had promised to be waiting for him."

"So, what do you want?" Bobby asked again.

"I wanted to…" Gadreel frowned, "make contact I guess. I want to have good news of you for Sam."

"Why would you care?" Bobby asked.

Gadreel tried to find a way to explain his connection to Sam, but he found words failed him. To tell the story he would have to tell it all, and he knew Bobby would react strongly. He wasn't sure how long he would have here, and he didn't want to waste it listening to Bobby Singer's expletives.

"Sam is a friend," he said eventually.

"And that ain't even half of it. I know Sam and I know liars. You're lying, or at least hiding something, and I'd bet my scrap yard that it's nothing good."

Gadreel sighed and launched into an abridged explanation of how he and Sam had crossed paths. He explained Metatron's spell, Castiel's involvement and his own, omitting the fact that he had killed Sam in order to furnish proof for Metatron.

"Balls," Bobby said angrily as he finished. "Should've known they wouldn't learn."

"To whom are you referring?" Gadreel asked curiously.

"All of 'em. Dean for being stupid enough to have Sam stuffed with an angel. Cas for playing God again—he should have learned better last time. Sam for thinking anything good could come of leaving his brother behind. Really, how many times do they have to screw up like that to realize that they need each other, need to be honest with each other to work things out? And the angels, we knew something was hinky when they stopped patrolling like holy hall monitors, letting us travel a little, but we had no idea it's 'cause they were cast out."

"We?"

Bobby smiled. "You said you came for Sam; you wanted news for him. Well, I've got something that should make him smile. We're all here. Ash helped us track them down — eventually — and we've got something of a gathering going on."

"You found Sam's parents?"

"Them and others. Hell, it's like the good old days up here sometimes, all of us coming together, and…" He cleared his throat. "Thought the boys would like to know."

Gadreel smiled. This was better than news of Bobby alone. He would be able to tell Sam he had not wasted his faith, that Gadreel was true and had used his time in Heaven wisely. He got to his feet.

"Going already?" Bobby asked.

"I must not be found here. Metatron cannot know I have spoken to you."

"You don't need to worry about me letting on. If the little squit comes calling, I'll bolt the door."

Gadreel could have told him that there was no point, that angels ruled Heaven, but he held his tongue and asked, "Is there any message you would like me to deliver to Sam?"

"You can tell them _both_ I'm good, and I'll have a couple cold ones ready whenever they come, but not to hurry."

"Anything else?" Gadreel asked.

Bobby shook his head with a small smile. "Nothing they don't already know."

* * *

><p>Berieah and Camael listened to Castiel's explanation of his stolen and diminished grace without question, and when he finished, they vowed their support regardless. Their group of three dedicated to the cause became five. Dean was hopeful that with the angels' assistance, they would be able to make some headway on finding Sam and taking care of the other items on their to-do list.<p>

Though Dean trusted them, it still felt strange to let them into the bunker. It had been the sanctuary of his ragtag family and now there were more angels than humans lurking around.

He locked his door before going to bed that night, not wanting to wake to an unfamiliar angel standing at the end of his bed; it was bad enough when that happened with Castiel.

When morning came around, he ambled into the kitchen to see Castiel giving a lecture—at least that was what it looked like—on the coffee maker, instilling in the angels the importance of keeping it full and how to manage it.

Castiel held up a package of ground beans. "This is the brand we use. They sell it at the grocery store in town. It is important that we buy the correct kind. Humans are specific about their tastes."

That wasn't entirely true. Dean didn't care much about what brand of coffee they bought as long as he could drink it hot and black. It was Sam who had a specific brand he liked. He chose not to correct Castiel though because when Sam got back, he would bitch if they'd stocked up on the wrong kind.

Camael and Berieah nodded attentively, as if this was a war meeting and he was discussing strategy. Castiel looked uncomfortable, but Dean didn't intervene. Castiel had to lose the training wheels of leadership, and teaching something like coffee didn't need Dean's assistance.

Deans stepped around them and poured two mugs of coffee, then made his way to the library. Kevin was just stumbling out of the hall that led to their bedrooms, raking a hand through his sleep-tousled hair and yawning.

"Get this down you," Dean said, handing him a mug. "We need you awake today. I want to know what the hell that sigil was and why it worked like angel catnip.

Kevin sipped his coffee and looked around the room. "Where are the angels?"

"Kitchen. Cas is teaching them finer points of humans, starting with brewing the coffee."

Kevin huffed a laugh. "Sure, that's what he chooses to start with." He dropped down into a chair at the table and pulled the tablet over to him.

Dean sat opposite and sipped at his coffee. After a few minutes companionable silence, Castiel came in, trailed by Berieah and Camael.

Dean felt eyes on him and he looked up to see Berieah staring intently at him. "Something I can help you with?" he asked.

"Your jaw," she said.

"Is healing," Dean finished, rubbing a hand along the still tender flesh.

"It is healing wrong," she clarified. "It will affect your features."

Dean wasn't vain exactly, but his looks often came in useful when charming his way into morgues and crime scenes. "Affect them how?" he asked.

"You will have a crooked smile. I can correct it if you wish."

Dean nodded. "Sure. Have at it."

She stepped up to him and examined him for a moment. She laid her hand on his chin and pressed her fingers hard into his flesh. Dean had dislocated his jaw a few times in the past, in bar brawls and in the hunt, and Sam had popped it back into place for him. That had hurt, but this hurt more. It felt like his jaw was being rebroken and slotted into place, which he guessed, it probably was. He groaned and pulled back.

"There," she said, sounding satisfied. "Your symmetrical features are restored."

"Yeah, thanks," Dean said, blowing out a sigh of relief as the pain receded.

His attention was drawn by the other new angel in town, Camael. He was looking at Kevin as if memorizing him. Dean could tell, by Kevin's flushed cheeks, that he wasn't oblivious to the attention he was garnering.

"Prophet," he said reverently. "Is there anything I can do to assist?"

Dean shook his head. "Okay, we need to nip that in the bud straight off." Camael turned to look at him instead. "His name's Kevin, or Kev, not prophet."

The angel nodded obediently "Kevin, is there anything you need?"

"Uh…" Kevin looked thoughtful. "A donut would be good."

Dean grinned. "Nice."

"Do we have donuts?" Camael asked, looking to Castiel.

"No," Castiel said, his lips pursing in disapproval.

"We can purchase them though," Berieah said. "We have cash."

Kevin nodded eagerly and Dean stifled a laugh. He hadn't had a chance to screw with Castiel much when he'd arrived on account of the whole impeding apocalypse, so he enjoyed watching Kevin take advantage of the opportunity when it was given. The kid's life had been turned upside down by angels and heavenly duties; it was only fair that he got something in return.

"We have many other breakfast foods," Castiel suggested.

"Not good enough, Cas," Dean said with a smile. "The _prophet_ wants donuts."

"We do not mind," Berieah said. "There is little else we can do at the moment."

Castiel frowned but said, "Very well. I will show you where they can be bought."

"Awesome," Kevin said happily, patting his stomach.

"But," Castiel continued, "we do not require your money. Dean can provide."

Dean narrowed his eyes at Castiel as he drew his wallet and tossed it across the room to the angel. Castiel caught it and smiled slightly, apparently amused by Dean's displeasure. He gestured for the angels to follow, and they trailed up the stairs.

As the door clanged closed behind them, Dean turned to Kevin. "Awesome, man."

Kevin grinned. "Dude, it was like being under a microscope with them watching me. Sending them out on a donut run was all I could think of."

"You'll get used to it," Dean said easily. "Cas was all intense and weird at first, too."

"You say that like he's not weird now."

"Trust me, Kev, it's better than it was." Dean's phone beeped with an incoming email and he pulled it out of his pocket. "Damn."

"Who's it from?" Kevin asked, sounding mildly interested.

"Sammy."

Kevin's head snapped up and he got to his feet. "What's he say?"

"It's got an attachment," Dean said. He flipped open the laptop on the end of the table and logged into his email. "No text, no subject even, just pictures." He clicked the first to open it and then jerked back as if electrocuted. "No," he breathed. "No, no, no, no!" His voice was a bellow by the end, his hands coming up to tangle in his hair. He didn't breathe, his heart even seemed to still as he took in what he was seeing.

"What is it?" Kevin asked, peering around him. "Oh God!"

It was Sam.

* * *

><p><strong>So… I don't really know what to say other than sorry. <strong>

****I may not be able to update over the weekend as I am going away. I will post as soon as I get back.****

**Until next time…. **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	19. Chapter 19

_**Thanks to Jenjoremy for beta'ing and SandraEngstom2 and Gredelina1 for their help getting this one written.**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Nineteen<strong>_

* * *

><p>"<em>There ain't no me if there ain't no you."<em>

* * *

><p>Castiel knew, even before he caught sight of Kevin, that something was terribly wrong. Instead of calling out random and ridiculous questions for Castiel to prove his identity, Kevin opened the door and held it wide for them to enter. He had been crying. His cheeks were smeared and damp where he had wiped the tears away.<p>

"What has happened?" he asked at once.

Kevin swallowed audibly. "It's… Sam."

Castiel closed his eyes for a moment, attempting to remain calm while inside he was reeling.

"He is dead?" Berieah asked.

Castiel wanted her to retract the question. He didn't want to hear it. As it was, he could still pretend it was nothing, something small, but once Kevin answered, there would be no taking that knowledge away. Sam's death would be fact, irretrievable, absolute.

He didn't hear Kevin's answer, perhaps he didn't vocalize it at all, but he heard footsteps moving away from him and down the stairs. His eyes opened and he realized he was alone. Camael and Berieah had followed Kevin into the library. Castiel trailed them on autopilot. Even his footsteps sounded reluctant, as if he was headed to the gallows.

He had once said goodbye to Sam, before he had gone to Lucifer with the intention of allowing him in and taking him into the cage. Castiel had been awkward and literal then, unable to understand the human implications of Sam's plea for him to take care of Dean and Bobby. Sam had needed a lie, and Castiel had tried to deliver. He had failed though, and Sam's eyes had been sad as he turned away. Castiel hadn't understood then what it felt like to care, not really; he didn't know what it meant to be a friend. He knew that now; Sam was his friend, and Castiel was feeling the pain of grief properly for the first time. He didn't know how humans bore it.

Kevin was talking in a low voice and gesturing to the laptop, and Berieah and Camael were nodding. Castiel plodded to them and spoke in a low and cracked voice.

"What happened to him?"

"It was an angel," Camael replied solemnly, pointing to the laptop screen.

Reluctantly, Castiel's eyes moved to the photograph displayed, and he felt his heart sink. Sam was sprawled on a bed, his arms flung out at his sides. His eyes, the eyes that had shown every emotion he felt the moment he felt it, were gone. He was dead.

Castiel turned away, unable to bear what he was seeing. Sam, who had offered him his hand with reverence the first time they met, was dead. Sam, who had forgiven Castiel his crimes, those that he knew of, was gone. Sam, who had been Castiel's friend and ally and… family.

Anger surged through him and he turned away, his hands fisting. He wanted to rant and rage and destroy. He wanted to smash things, to vent some of what he was feeling into the physical. It seemed wrong that there was no physical damage in this place when its occupants were in such turmoil. The perfectly aligned books on the polished shelves, the bright glass of the lampshade, the sheen of the tabletop, it all felt wrong.

He reached for a lamp, planning to smash it on the floor, to turn it into shards of glass and twisted metal, but a memory came to him, and he faltered. It had been before the angels fell, when Sam and Dean had brought him to the bunker to heal. Castiel had come into the library late one night, expecting it to be empty, but Sam had been there. He had been sitting at the table with his head in his hands. When Castiel had entered, he had looked up. He had been pale and shaking as thetrauma caused by the trials ripped through his mortal body, but he had smiled at Castiel and asked if there was anything he needed. This lamp had been lighting Sam's face then, illuminating his shadowed eyes and hollowed cheeks. This lamp had shone on Sam and become part of that memory. Castiel couldn't destroy it now.

A hand rested on his shoulder, and he knew from the absence of grace that it was Kevin. Castiel wasn't the most tactile person, but he knew this was Kevin's attempt at comfort, and he appreciated it for what it was. He took a deep breath and turned around to face him. Fresh tears had tracked down Kevin's cheeks, and his face was pale. Sam was, Castiel knew, Kevin's family, too. In fact, the only family he had left now was Dean, as his mother had been a casualty of the fight. He had lost so much for one so young.

He thought he should say something, to comfort Kevin somehow, but the words would not come. Sam would have known what to say; having lost so much, so many, he always knew what to say and when silence was better. Instead, he asked, "Where is Dean?"

Kevin gnawed on his bottom lip. "In his room, I think. He just… left."

Castiel nodded. Of course he had. Dean would want privacy for his suffering. Castiel wanted that, too. He didn't want to be here with Berieah and Camael. They were angels in the purest sense. They did not understand the grief permeating the room as they had no connection to Sam. They knew of him by reputation and remembered what he had done, but they had never seen him fight or smile or hurt. To them, Sam was just another casualty of war. He wasn't to Castiel and Kevin. He was family.

Castiel patted Kevin awkwardly on the arm and walked away. He wanted to see Dean, to offer what comfort he could and perhaps to find comfort in return. They felt the loss most keenly as Sam had been theirs for the longest time.

Dean's bedroom door was closed and Castiel's knock went unanswered, but when he tested the door, he found it wasn't locked. He eased it open and looked in. "Dean?" he said hesitantly.

Dean was facing away from him, but at Castiel's entrance, he turned. Unlike Kevin, Dean made no attempt to hide his tears. They tracked down his pale cheeks, leaving rivulets. His eyes were red and tight with pain.

"What?" he asked in a cracked voice.

"I'm so sorry," Castiel started.

"Don't!" Dean said harshly. "Just… don't."

Another apology was on the tip of Castiel's tongue, but he withheld it.

"Is there anything I can do?" he asked instead.

"Can you give me my brother back?" Dean asked.

"I don't know where he is. If I knew, I could try, but I need his…"Castiel's voice trailed off.

"Body?" Dean finished in a whisper. "I don't know where he is, Cas. All I can see is that picture of him. Every time I close my eyes I see him, but I don't know where he is. It could be any town in any state, and he's just lying there, needing me, and I don't know where he is."

Castiel bowed his head. "I'm sorry, Dean."

Dean collapsed on the edge of the bed, as if his legs didn't have the strength to hold him anymore. "What am I going to do, Cas?" he asked.

Castiel moved to stand beside him and rested a hand on his shoulder. "I don't know. I wish I did. I wish I could help you, but I can't."

Another tear tracked down Dean's cheek and he swallowed hard. Castiel sat beside him, deciding the least he could do was be with Dean, to share the load of their grief.

* * *

><p>For a long time after Gadreel left, Sam just lay on the bed, getting accustomed to the sensation of being alone again. It was compounded by the fact he had just died. Again. The pain of what Gadreel had done to him had been immense, even though it had only lasted seconds. He'd felt even worse than he had outside that chapel when the final effects of the trials were ripping through him. He had wanted to scream out, to beg for mercy, to tell Gadreel that he'd changed his mind, but his lips were seared together and his voice box burned. There was nothing he could do, and he'd embraced the darkness when it had come for him. Then he had been given life. Again.<p>

He sat up slowly, expecting some stiffness or soreness from what had happened, but there was none. He actually felt refreshed, as if waking from a good night's sleep. Easing his legs around to the edge of the bed, he stretched his shoulders and then stood.

It was strange for him to be alone. Gadreel's voice and presence had become so much a part of him that he'd stopped thinking about it. Now, he expected Gadreel to speak up, to remind him that they were wasting time when there was something to do, someone to avoid. There were still things to do and people to avoid, but Sam would be doing it all alone. Well, until he got to the bunker anyway. Then he would be with the people he needed again. It would be great to see Kevin, to apologize and explain what had happened with him and Gadreel. He wanted to find out how Castiel had gotten his mojo back. And more than anything, he wanted to see Dean and make it clear, crystal clear, that he hadn't meant a word or punch the last time they were together.

Sam wasn't so stupid as to believe that would be the end of it. Dean was going to be beyond pissed, with good reason, at Sam. Not only had he beat him into the dirt and shouted cruel things at him, but he had also taken off with an angel. Dean wouldn't bear a grudge for the beating; it certainly wasn't the first time they'd come to blows. It was the fact he had taken off with Gadreel that was going to be the problem. Dean wouldn't forgive him for that in a hurry. He would say Sam should have trusted him with the truth, and perhaps he should have, but his priority had been keeping Dean and Kevin safe, keeping them together, and keeping them away from him. It had seemed worth it then. Looking back, he wasn't so sure. Perhaps he should have explained more to Dean. It was too late now to change that. All he could do was try to make amends.

Night was falling fast outside, and he needed to get moving. It would take a couple days of driving to get to Kansas. The sooner he set out, the better. His duffel was on the table and he zipped it closed and swung it over his shoulder. It was very unlikely that cops would investigate a stolen car too thoroughly, but the motel manager had seen his face, so he would move on before finding a car.

He glanced around the room once more, checking that he hadn't left anything important, and then pulled open the door. The night was cool, but not bitter, and he made his way along the lit sidewalks taking turns at random. He came to a dimly lit warehouse district with a large overnight parking lot. There were a few cars parked inside, and with a quick glance around, he verified that they were all empty—he didn't want to be halfway into the car when a couple making out noticed him. He picked out an old Ford and got to work.

A few minutes later, he was powering along the street with the radio playing quietly in the background. Driving was like walking to him these days—it took little thought—and his mind wandered to Dean. He knew his arrival was going to come as a shock, but he couldn't call ahead as Gadreel taken his phone with the photos as proof that he was dead. He decided he would see if there was a payphone when he stopped for gas next, though he had no idea what he was going to say. _'Hey, Dean. Sorry for pounding you into the dirt, but I'm coming back now, 'cause I want to help with the whole killing Metatron thing, though if we can leave Gadreel alive, I'd be grateful.'_

No, he would have to think of something better. Luckily, he had a couple days in which to think about it.

* * *

><p>He did stop and try to call Dean while on the road, three times in fact, but it rang through to voicemail each time. Sam didn't leave a message, coward that he was, because he still didn't know what to say.<p>

He got as far as Des Moines before he started to lag. He knew he should probably stop and sleep awhile, but he wanted to get back to Dean. He could make it a little longer on coffee.

The parking lot of the Gas-N-Sip was empty of all but a couple standing beside a sleek black SUV. The woman was tall and statuesque,looming over the middle-aged man. Sam wouldn't have given them more than a second's though if it wasn't for the way theywatched him as he pulled the car to a stop and opened the door.

He blamed it later on tiredness, on eagerness to get back to the bunker; his reflexes were slow and the word _'Winchester'_ formed on the man's lips and the woman scowled at him before he realized what they were. They started forward and Sam threw himself into the car again. He roared out of the parking lot and onto the road, casting a glance back into the rearview mirror in time to see them slamming the SUV doors and pelting after him.

His hands were slick on the steering wheel as he pressed the pedal to the metal. He had no chance of out running them in this crapped out Ford, but he wasn't going to make it easy for them either. If they wanted him, they were going to have a fight on their hands. The hood of the SUV loomed in his mirrors and he cursed. He had a perfect view of their faces as they nudged the rear of his car with their own. The tires ground against the asphalt as he was forced forward.

He couldn't hear what they were saying, but the message was clear. "Stop!"

"The hell with that," he said, coaxing a little more speed from the engine.

For a moment he thought they were giving up on him, as they fell back a little, but then their intention became clear. They let him get ahead of him and then they veered into the other lane. Their engine roared as they came forward and clipped the rear of the Ford. Sam was unable to do more than spin the wheel and try to correct himself, but the momentum of the tap send him spinning. His head struck the side window and he was stunned for a moment. His foot slipped from the accelerator and he felt the car slowing and stopping.

The door was yanked open and rough arms seized him and dragged him from the car. He struggled for all he was worth, kicking and punching, but they were stronger. The woman came into his field of vision and her lips were pulled back into a snarl.

"I'm not him," Sam said desperately. "Gadreel's gone."

"I know," she said. "We will find him, but for now, you will do."

He saw her fist coming toward his face and then nothing as the blow knocked him unconscious.

* * *

><p><strong>So… Again with the sorry. I have written a LOT of angst before, but the initial scene of this chapter was among the hardest I've ever written. I hope I did it justice. <strong>

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	20. Chapter 20

_**** Thanks to Jenjoremy for beta'ing. Also thanks to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all their help. Love you ladies.****_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Twenty<strong>_

* * *

><p>"<em>Crossroads are where pacts are made."<em>

* * *

><p>The following days were spent in almost total silence. At times, Dean would clear his throat or open his mouth as if about to speak, causing Castiel to look at him hopefully, but each time he just shook his head and looked away. His phone rang a few times, but they ignored it and the calls stopped coming. Dean would drink the bottles of water Castiel brought him but he didn't sleep—his grief seemed beyond rest. Castiel wondered whether he should render him unconscious, but that seemed a gross act of abuse given Dean's situation. Sleep was inevitable, though, and Dean collapsed on the bed on the third day. Castiel repositioned him so he looked comfortable and made his way back to the library.<p>

Kevin was sitting at the table with the laptop open in front of him. At first Castiel thought he was looking at the macabre pictures of Sam's demise again and he wondered why Kevin would subject himself to that, but when he looked, he saw a news page open instead.

He looked up as Castiel entered, and Castiel saw the lines of stress in his face. "How's Dean?" he asked.

Castiel considered his answer carefully. "He is hurting, but presently sleeping."

Kevin nodded. "I guess that's for the best, though dreams can be worse than waking. After my mom… you know, I dreamed about her a lot."

Castiel had experienced dreams when he was human, and he had found them disturbing. He would see past memories, both good and bad. Some of his fondest were memories of Heaven and some of the worst were of his failures.

He looked back toward the bedroom, wondering if Dean was dreaming now. Would be tormented by dreams of his brother or would they be happy memories? Sam was only reachable to him through his subconscious now. Castiel knew he could easily enter Dean's dream and see what he saw, but he didn't. That would be an invasion of his privacy. Besides, he was worried he would see Sam, too. No matter the setting of the dream, it would be bittersweet. Sam was gone and that was something Castiel had to face, too. The grief of his loss didn't only belong to the humans.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Kevin looked uncomfortable. "I was looking for news of Sam."

Castiel frowned. "We cannot help him now, Kevin. He is dead."

"I know," Kevin said angrily. "I was looking for his body. It's not right that it should be dumped somewhere or given a John Doe cremation. He should get a decent funeral."

Castiel wondered if that would help any of them. To see Sam's body go up in flames would be unpleasant, but it was, as he understood, the Winchester's way, a hunters end.

"Have you found anything?" he asked.

Kevin shook his head. "I guess it's not newsworthy, even given the way he died. The place he was in looked like a motel, it had that generic look about it, but I can't find anything. I've been searching local PD's files, too, but it's a big country and we don't even know what state he was in."

"Where are Berieah and Camael?"

"They said there were things they needed to do," Kevin said, sounding disinterested.

Castiel wondered what those things might be, but he didn't give it much thought. Whatever they were doing was for the cause, and that was what mattered. Castiel wasn't so lost that he forgot the mission, though that would have been easier. Metatron must die, and Gadreel, too. He didn't know how Sam's death had come about, but Gadreel had not been in that body when he had died, so it begged the question of what had made him leave.

As if picking up on his thoughts, Kevin asked, "Castiel, what happened to Sam? Berieah said it was an angel kill, but why would an angel kill him like that, as a human?"

"I do not know," Castiel admitted. "I believe Metatron is at the heart of it, but as to how, I am unsure."

"It doesn't seem real, you know? I mean it's Sam! I know he was messed up from the trials and all, but I didn't think he'd _die_, not after Dean saved him._"_

"This is not the first time Sam has died," Castiel said, with a hint of a smile. "Both Sam and Dean have been pushing the limits of Death for a long time. Dean saved him once, and I another time."

"Can you save him again?" Kevin asked hopefully.

"I truly wish I could. But without knowing where Sam's body is, there is nothing I can do. I am limited with this. Both Dean and I are beyond deals this time."

Kevin let out a breath that sounded like a sigh. "I'm going to need the full story sometime."

Castiel nodded. "And you shall hear it, but perhaps now is not the time. Dean should at least tell his part. I was not there for it all."

"You really think he's going to be up for a session of show and tell anytime soon?"

Castiel considered. It was true Dean wouldn't be in a position to talk of these things for a long time, but it wasn't all his story to tell. Kevin was looking at him with a plea in his eyes though, not curiosity, and Castiel thought he deserved this.

"Okay," he said, sitting at the table and laying his palms flat on the polished wood. "It began, I suppose, with a demon named Azazel…"

* * *

><p>Kevin had always known the Winchesters were special, but Castiel showed him that he had never even come close to realizing just how incredible they were. He thought killing Dick Roman had been their biggest save, but he was hearing now that his death was just another enemy down in protection of the world. Hell, they'd beat the Devil and Heaven's machinations to avert the apocalypse. They faced down demons and archangels and the mother of all monsters and they'd both literally been to Hell. Kevin's fate as a prophet seemed small potatoes after that.<p>

Castiel had told him more than perhaps he intended to. He told the story of the bond between Sam and Dean and how it had been stretched to breaking point more than once and yet hadn't broken. He had smiled and even laughed sometimes as he recounted stories of their lives, and things they had done. Kevin thought he had been lost in the story as much as Kevin had been. It was cathartic for him to talk about Sam. Kevin's first impression of Castiel had been as a crazy dude, which at the time he had been. Then he'd met sane Castiel, and he'd thought he was an ass that cared about nothing but the mission. As he listened to Castiel's tale, he realized he cared about the Winchesters, too, even though one was now gone.

As Castiel finished telling the story of Sam and Dean's many deaths and how they had been forced to live without the other and what that had driven them to, Kevin had asked, "What's it going to take this time to get Dean back?"

"I don't know," Castiel said quietly, "a miracle perhaps."

But when Dean finally came into the library, four days after the fateful email, Kevin wondered if a miracle would be enough. Castiel had taken him food and drink and the tray had come back half finished, but Dean still looked like he'd dropped weight. His eyes were heavily shadowed and his cheeks hollowed.

"Dean," Kevin started awkwardly, knowing what he needed to say but struggling to find the words. "About Sam, I'm…"

Dean held up a hand to stop him and spoke in a cracked voice. "I don't want to hear it. I _can't_ hear it."

"Okay. Is there anything I can do?"

"You can never say that name again." He turned to Castiel. "You, too. I know you guys want to help, but all that's going to help me now is killing that bastard Gadreel."

Castiel nodded dourly. "We will, Dean, we will kill him and Metatron both."

"Metatron," Dean said in an amused tone. "Yeah, he should die, too. I'm sure it's at least half his fault, but my mission now is Gadreel. I don't know how or why, but he wasn't in there when it mattered, and I'm going to make him suffer for that."

Kevin saw the dangerous look in his eyes and thought perhaps he could see now how Dean would have looked when he travelled to that crossroads after Sam's murder. It was the gleam in the red rimmed eyes that spoke of pain for whoever stood in his path.

Dean would do it, at whatever cost, he would kill Gadreel, and though Kevin knew whatever cost might include his own life, he would do all he could to help.

* * *

><p>The harder Dean tried to think of anything but Sam, the more the thoughts assaulted him. It was like having a slideshow of their life together running though his head. He saw Sam laughing at a lame joke, smiling reassuringly at witnesses, frowning over his laptop as he puzzled over a case, sharing a beer, riding in the car, aiming a shotgun, dead on a motel bed with his eyes burned away. That last image came at him again and again, tormenting him with its reality. Sam was gone. Sam was dead. Sam was probably rotting in a morgue somewhere, unnamed and unknown, denied even a decent funeral.<p>

Dean shook his head as if that could dislodge the thought.

"You hungry?" Kevin asked tentatively.

When Dean didn't answer, Castiel said, "You should eat, Dean. You need to be strong to fight."

Dean nodded. He had no appetite or even motivation to eat, but he thought this was as good an opening as he was likely to get to be alone for more than a few minutes.

He had appreciated Castiel staying with him, but on the third day, when he'd fallen asleep, he'd had a dream. It was a nightmare, actually, combined with a memory. It had been Cold Oak again, and Sam had been lying dead on the dirty mattress. It wasn't the first time he'd had the dream, it used to happen all the time, right up until it had been replaced by Sam falling into that damn pit. The difference was, when he'd woken panting with sweat dripping down his face, he'd known what to do. Sam was dead and gone, but not necessarily for good. He had saved him once, and he would do it again, he just needed a demon. Lucky for him, he had the boss of all demons in the dungeon.

There was a risk that Castiel would try to stop him though—demon deals went bad—which is why he waited until he had followed Kevin into the kitchen before easing himself out of his chair and jogging to the records room that covered the entrance to the dungeon.

The shelves creaked as he dragged them apart, and he hoped the kitchen was far enough away for Castiel to hear it. The last thing he needed was Castiel riding in to the rescue before he'd had a chance to talk to Crowley.

The demon looked up as Dean stepped inside and flipped the lights on.

"Squirrel," he said cheerfully. "How the Moose hunt going? He still being rode around like a donkey at the seaside?"

"I don't have time to dick around," Dean said quickly. "I'm going to talk fast and you're going to stow that snarky crap till I'm done."

Crowley looked amused. "And if I don't?"

"Then I will pump your veins so full of holy water that it pours out of your ears."

"Like I wouldn't thank you for the treat," Crowley said happily, "Okay, fine, you have my attention. What do you want?"

"Sam is dead," Dean said hoarsely. "I want you to bring him back."

Crowley's eyes widened. "What happened?"

"Not the point, Crowley. Can you bring him back?"

"Hello, King of Hell here. I can do whatever I want."

Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

"Don't go celebrating yet," Crowley said. "It's going to cost you."

Of course it would. You don't get a deal for nothing. Dean didn't think it would be a soul trade this time, though. Whatever it was he wanted, Crowley would find a way to weight the deal in his own favor. Dean didn't care. There was nothing more important to him now than getting Sam back. Even killing Gadreel was secondary to that.

"What do you want?" he asked.

"These chains off for a start," Crowley said. "They itch."

"What else?"

Crowley considered. "A favor. One day, probably soon, I am going to need something, and you are going to deliver. You will do _whatever _I ask without question. No pearl clutching or angsting, no lectures from the moose, instant obedience, understand?"

He could ask literally anything. It could cost lives. It should be enough to stop him but it wouldn't. Sam was dead. What could Dean do but make the deal?

He held out a hand and Crowley clasped it between both of his own shackled ones. "You will do whatever I ask?"

"I will," Dean vowed.

Crowley grinned. "Awesome. Now how's about you get these pesty chains off and I get to work. Where've you stashed the Moose? Does this place have a morgue?"

"I don't know."

"Not much for exploring, are you?"

"No, I mean I don't know where Sam is," Dean said. "I only know he's dead."

Crowley sighed. "You don't have his body. That puts something of a crimp into our plans."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"Well, I need something to work with," Crowley said. "I can pop downstairs or up and pluck Sam's soul out, but I need somewhere to stuff it when I have it. He's not a demon, so I can't just stick it any poor sod. I need his own body."

"But I don't know where it is!" Dean said, a hint of desperation leaking into his tone.

"And that is why he cannot help you," Castiel said.

Dean spun on his heel and saw Castiel and Kevin standing in the doorway. They wore identical expression of sympathy and regret.

"He can't?" Dean asked.

Castiel shook his head. "Like me, Crowley cannot act without Sam's body. We need something to siphon Sam's soul in to. Crowley is no more use to you than I am in this regard."

Dean turned away and his hands came up to tug on his hair. He was overwhelmed with disappointment. He had believed Crowley would do it. He had been the one thing standing between Dean and the abyss of a life without Sam, and now they were saying there was nothing he could do. It was too much to bear. He needed his brother back, dammit.

Avoiding Castiel's and Kevin's gaze, he passed them and walked out of the room. He could hear the dull murmur of Castiel's voice behind him, but he didn't listen. The pain he was feeling was a physical thing, working through his veins like acid. He had every fact on everything supernatural on offer in this place, he had an angel and the King of Hell, but none of those things could help him now. Sam was gone and he was alone.

How was he supposed to live like that?

**So... Um... Sorry for the feels.**

**Until next time...**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	21. Chapter 21

**Thanks to Jenjoremy for beta'ing and general awesomeness and to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for helping me get the ideas out.**

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-One<strong>

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><p>"<em>I am no leader. But I will find Metatron, and I make him pay." <em>

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><p>Mikhail and Bartholomew were ensconced in the former office of Buddy Boyle, looking over a map of operations, when the doors banged open and a man was dragged in by Marcus and Bethiah, both former employees of Buddy and now vessels of the divine.<p>

Bartholomew looked up and smiled. "Sam Winchester?"

Bethiah smiled. "We found him in Iowa, Bartholomew. The betrayer has left him, but we thought you would still want to talk to him."

The Winchester was struggling hard, despite the fact his hands and feet were bound, and his eyes darted from face to face. There was a purpling bruise on his cheek and his skin was pale.

"I do indeed want to speak to him," Bartholomew said. "You both did very well to bring him to me."

"It was hardly difficult," Marcus said, while Bethiah shot him a sharp look. Marcus had been a leader of a garrison before the fall, and he seemed to resent his position in external operations now. He thought he should have Mikhail's place as second-in-command. He couldn't be relied upon to show Bartholomew the due deference of his position. It was, Mikhail knew, why he had been placed at a distance to recruit other angels rather than remaining in the center of the action. It was only the fact that he hated Castiel with a passion that had stopped Bartholomew from cutting him loose. Since Berieah and Camael had disappeared, surely to join the lone angel, Bartholomew had been more careful of who he let into the field.

"Still," Bartholomew said benevolently, "I am pleased."

The captive's eyes fixed on Bartholomew with a look of loathing that amused Mikhail. As if Bartholomew would care what he thought of him. Bartholomew looked back unerringly, sizing him up and seeming to find him lacking.

"So, Sam, why are you here alone?" Bartholomew asked. "What made the betrayer leave you?"

"Screw you."

Bartholomew shook his head. "I think we can do better than that." He slid his blade into his hand and pressed it against The Winchester's throat. "I will ask you again, and if you are impolite, I will kill you. Why did he leave?"

Angry hazel eyes narrowed. "Because we needed time apart for the good of our relationship."

Bartholomew sighed. "Marcus, Bethiah, please put him down then you can leave."

They dropped The Winchester unceremoniously to the floor and left the room. Bartholomew gripped him under the arm, dragged him across the room, and shoved him into a plush chair. "I want answers, Sam, and the faster you give them to me, the easier things will be for you."

"Get bent."

Mikhail stepped forward and struck his prisoner across the jaw with the back of his hand. "Watch your tone," he snapped.

The Winchester turned his malevolent glare on him instead. "Bite me."

Mikhail raised a hand to strike him again but Bartholomew shook his head. "Don't bruise the packaging," he said. "I want a clean canvas to work on."

He used his blade to cut through The Winchester's shirt, baring his pale chest. Mikhail slid his own sword into his hand. He thought perhaps Bartholomew was going to start cutting there and then and he wondered if he would get a turn.

"Have you ever seen anything like it?" Bartholomew asked in an awed tone.

Mikhail didn't know what he meant at first. All he saw was the pasty skin and flawed form of a human, the same thing he saw when he looked in the mirror, but then he looked closer. It wouldn't be visible to a human, but to him it was obvious with focus. There was grace in the human. It ebbed and flowed over him;it was twisted and entwined with his every cell. Whatever had happened to this young man, he was only alive by the grace of an angel.

"Have you ever seen so much grace in one human?" Bartholomew asked.

Mikhail shook his head. "He is dripping with it."

Bartholomew swiped across The Winchester's chest, drawing a shallow wound from his right nipple to his navel. Blood welled and dripped from the cut. "I see he at least bleeds blood," he said. "As much as is in him, I thought perhaps it would be grace."

Mikhail's eyes moved from the flowing blood to The Winchester's face. He showed no sign that he was even aware of the cut let alone feeling the pain of it. His eyes were fixed on Bartholomew with a look of loathing. Mikhail wanted to slit his throat for that alone.

"I can get answers from him," he said hopefully. "Let me have him and I will find out where Gadreel is."

Bartholomew looked thoughtful. "What do you think, Sam? Should I leave you to Mikhail's hands for a while, or would you prefer to talk freely?"

"What do you think I know? It wasn't like Gadreel and I were buddies. He didn't talk to me. I was just ridden around for weeks."

"Perhaps not," Bartholomew said. "But I am sure you know where Castiel is. I am sure the first thing you did when the betrayer dumped you was call home and catch up on news. I want to see Castiel again, and you will tell me where to find him."

The Winchester shook his head. "I'm telling you nothing."

"That is where you are wrong," Bartholomew said. "Mikhail here is good at what he does. He will have you spilling all your secrets."

Mikhail preened at the praise.

Their captive raised a stubborn eyebrow. "You think I'm talking to him? I was in the cage with Michael and Lucifer. Your friend is nothing compared to them."

Bartholomew smiled. "We shall see. Mikhail, please get to work. I would like to know everything about Castiel and the betrayer that he knows. Don't spare the blood, but do not heal either. I have plans for that grace."

Mikhail didn't know what he meant about the grace, but he was pleased that he was being given free rein on this boy. He _would_ make him talk, and Bartholomew would see how wise he had been in making Mikhail his second.

Minutes later grunts of pain could be heard echoing around the room.

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><p>Castiel didn't know what to do for Dean. The hunter vacillated between stalking around the bunker and sitting at the table staring into space. He answered questions when prompted, but that was all. He didn't volunteer anything. The only thing he showed was his pain, and that was difficult to bear.<p>

Castiel had seen Dean grieving before, for Ellen and Jo and then later for Bobby, but he hadn't been in his company exclusively then. He hadn't seen the depth of his despair and he hadn't learned to cope with it alongside his own. He missed Sam and he wished he was still there, but those feelings felt selfish and small when compared to Dean's suffering.

It was late afternoon when he heard a fist thumping the door. Kevin looked up with both interest and worry, but Dean didn't even blink. Castiel went up the stairs and unbolted the door. Camael was standing on the other side, but Berieah was nowhere in sight.

"Where have you been? Where is Berieah?" Castiel asked, his voice harsh from stress rather than anger.

"We have been searching for others," Camael said. "And we have found them. Berieah is with them now?"

"Other what?" Kevin asked, coming to stand beside him.

"Angels," Camael said. "Castiel, you must come. They will need to see you before making their pledge."

"Their pledge…" Castiel growled. "Camael, what have you done? What have you promised them?"

"We promised them nothing but the chance to speak to you," he said. "And as for what I've done, I have done only what I had to do. You are a leader, Castiel. You are meant to lead an army. We have merely been building an army."

"I never wanted this!" Castiel said.

Castiel was overcome with anger. He had never, ever, wanted this. He didn't want to lead anyone, even Camael and Berieah were too many for him, but to have them recruiting behind his back… This was so wrong. He had proven before that he should not be in a position of power, and yet power was forced upon him again and again.

He heard feet plodding up the stairs and turned to see Dean coming toward them. "Take us to them," he said.

"Dean," Castiel started.

"Stow it," Dean snapped. "You're helping, right? Well, we're going to see the new recruits."

Castiel sighed. He couldn't refuse Dean, not now, and he _had_ said he would help. He listened as Dean ordered Kevin to stay inside, under the bunker's protections, and then allowed himself to be led out the door.

The one positive in the situation was that Dean seemed to be engaged in a way he hadn't been since Sam's death. He had a mission and he was working towards it. How he thought more angels were going to help, Castiel didn't know, but if it would keep Dean from lamenting everything that had happened, he would go along for now.

They only had to walk a few minutes before Castiel felt the other angels' presence. They came to a small children's play park on the edge of town, lit by a single floodlight. There were a dozen figures milling around the apparatus, talking quietly, but as they approached, they all fell silent and watched warily.

Berieah came to stand with them, and Castiel gripped her elbow. "What have you told them?" he asked in an angry whisper.

She pulled free. "Just that we are working towards killing Metatron and going home. That is all. They want to hear what you have to say."

They were expecting a speech. There had been a time when Castiel gave speeches, when he was leading others into battle or laying down the law after slaughtering thousands.

Castiel almost turned away there and then, but he caught Dean's eye and saw that he couldn't. Dean didn't speak, he didn't need to; his misery was plain to see. Every one of these angels could be a sword for their cause, killing Gadreel and Metatron. Castiel couldn't ignore that. He was going to kill the scribe to avenge all angels' suffering and the betrayer for Sam's.

The angels were watching him in silence, seeming to size him up, and he knew he had to say something.

"I do not know what you are expecting from me," he began awkwardly. "I do not know what you have been told, but I must tell you something first."

Sizing up changed to curiosity, and Castiel knew he had their attention.

"I know some of your faces and even some of your names, but I am not the same man you knew once."

Berieah and Camael shifted uncomfortably, but Castiel felt no regret for what he was saying. If these angels were going to join him, to follow him, he had to be honest with them first.

"I do not have my grace. My grace was stolen from me by Metatron."

"But you are an angel," an unfamiliar voice said. Castiel looked at the speaker and saw a woman who could have been in high school still when she gave herself over as a vessel.

Other angels nodded at her words.

"I am an angel with stolen grace," he confessed. "I took the grace of my captor for myself. It comes with a cost. I am not at full strength, and the grace is burning out. It will kill me eventually."

A murmur swept through the crowd.

"Why would you tell us this?" Meredith—an old friend of Castiel's—asked.

"Because if you are here seeking leadership, you deserve the truth, and also so you know my motivation. I will kill Metatron and I will work to reopen Heaven for our family, but I will not do it merely for altruistic means. I do it for revenge. If that sounds like something you are willing to help me with, I would be happy to accept assistance."

There. He had said it. Any angels that still wanted him after this would at least be armed with the truth. They knew what they were letting themselves infor.

"I will join you," Meredith said at once, and two or three voices made noises of agreement. "I wish to see Metatron killed, and I have seen what you and the Winchesters are capable of before."

Dean sucked in a pained breath beside him.

"And the rest of you?" Camael asked loudly.

For the first time Castiel considered what would happen to those that chose not to follow him. They could not be allowed to go free to whisper their secrets to Metatron or Bartholomew. He couldn't kill just because they didn't want him, but how was he to stop them?

He imagined them all, chained up with Crowley in the dungeon and he winced. That would be unpleasant for anyone, let alone an angel that naturally abhorred the King of Hell.

Much to Castiel's relief, he didn't need to do anything, as there were none that chose not to join him. One by one they stepped forward, each pledging in enochian to follow him. Castiel listened to their voices and smiled at them each in turn. It was a surreal feeling that he was not accustomed to even after all he had done. They were placing their trust in him, and he had never felt less worthy.

"What you going to do with them all?" Dean asked. "We can't take them all back to the bunker."

Physically, they could, the bunker was spacious enough to hold them all, but Castiel knew what he meant. Dean couldn't bear to have them overrunning the place, each with their own voice and feelings, when the place was already overrun with memory and sadness of its absent co-owner.

Castiel considered for a moment. "I will send them to Metatron," he said.

Dean raised an eyebrow. "You do realize that's crazy, right?"

Castiel shook his head. "It is not crazy. It will be a Trojan horse." He spoke so they could all hear. "I want you all to go away from this place and allow yourselves to be recruited again. Metatron will surely be looking for followers, and when you find how he is doing that, join him. Look and learn. Pledge your allegiance and do whatever your conscience allows you to do for him. Wait for me to send word. When the attack comes, you will know it. Take up arms and fight him. Can you do that for us?"

There was a chorus of affirmatives and many nodding heads.

"Thank you," Castiel said sincerely.

"One more thing," Dean said, his hoarse voice carrying over the silence. "I know you're all gunning for Gadreel since he screwed the pooch or whatever, but I don't want you touching him. I want to be the one that ends that sucker's life."

"Why?" a tall, dark-skinned angel asked. "He destroyed everything for us. What gives you the right to strike him down rather than us?"

Dean bristled with rage. "He killed my brother. He destroyed everything for me, too." He turned away and started back in the direction of the bunker.

Castiel stared down the angels, searching for any sign of disagreement, but there was none. There was interest and even some sympathy, but no one looked like they wanted to argue with what Dean had said.

"Gadreel belongs to Dean Winchester," he said loudly. "And Metatron to us all."

There were many nods. The angel that had spoken before, challenging Dean, locked eyes with his retreating back and smiled. "Very well. The betrayer belongs to the Winchester."

Castiel smiled his satisfaction. "Good."

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><p><strong>So… Sammy is all kinds of screwed and Castiel has the makings of an army. <strong>

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	22. Chapter 22

_**Thanks to Jenjore**_

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><p><em><strong>my for beta'ing and Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all their help and support.<strong>_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Twenty-Two<strong>_

"_I'll find Gadreel. And I will end that son of a bitch. But I'll do it alone."_

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><p>Mikhail worked over Sam for a long time, using all the tools at his disposal and drawing out pained cries that try as he might, Sam couldn't withhold. He'd always had a high pain tolerance, and it had increased exponentially after hell, but it seemed that there was a difference between being tortured by Lucifer and Michael in the cage and that of being tormented while he was alive and topside. The blood that was drawn from him was real and the wounds burned long after the blade had moved away.<p>

When Sam thought he could bear it no longer and was wishing for the relief of unconsciousness, the door opened and Bartholomew came inside.

"Well, Sam," he said cheerfully. "Are you feeling any more talkative yet?"

Sam shook his head weakly, forcing himself to meet the eyes of the angel. "I have nothing to say to you."

"Really? Not even where I can find Castiel?"

"I don't know where he is," Sam lied. "Gadreel has been screwing with my memories. I have holes in what I remember.I guess he didn't want me to be able to find my way home."

"I don't believe you," Bartholomew said mildly. "I think you know exactly where to find him. Where were you heading when my people picked you up?"

"California," Sam said quickly. "That's where I last saw him and Dean. I was going to try and trace them from there."

"And how, pray tell, were you going to do that? Follow the breadcrumbs? No, Sam, you know exactly where they are, and you will tell me."

Sam leaned forward and spat at the angel. "Go to hell."

Bartholomew withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at himself. "That was rude. Mikhail, if you will."

Mikhail smiled as his fist connected with Sam's jaw.

"Now, are you feeling any more talkative?" Bartholomew asked.

Sam shook his head both in negative and in an attempt to clear his dazed head.

Bartholomew sighed. "That is disappointing. No matter. If you will not break through pain, we will just have to find something else that will work. I am nothing if not adaptable. Mikhail, have him restrained somewhere… appropriate. I will return soon."

He swept from the room and Mikhail turned his eyes on Sam. "You are human filth, Winchester, and I know exactly where filth belongs."

His fingers gripped Sam's arm like a steel trap and pulled him roughly to his feet. Sam didn't even have a chance to get his bearings before he was being dragged through the wooden doors of the opulent office and into a hall. There was an angel standing guard outside the door, and her curious eyes followed them as they passed. At the end of the hall was a door marked with the universal sign for bathroom. Sam was shoved roughly inside, and after a moment's whispered conversation with the angel outside, Mikhail followed.

Sam caught sight of himself in the mirror above the sink. His jaw was red and the first hints of bruising were showing. His bare chest was littered with cuts and bruises from where Mikhail had attempted to make him talk. Some were deeper than others and were already red and angry looking. He looked like hell.

The female angel that had been standing guard outside came into the room with a length of chain and a padlock in her hand. "Will this do?"

Mikhail nodded. "It will do perfectly." He came forward and Sam backed away. He didn't want to be chained here like an animal, not when he finally had freedom of his own body again.

Mikhail seemed amused by his attempt at resistance. He shoved Sam back further and kicked his legs out from under him. Sam collided hard with the floor and his tongue was trapped between his teeth, cutting into it. He spat blood onto the floor.

Mikhail wound the chain around his neck, not quite tight enough to constrict air but tight enough to make Sam uncomfortable. He looped the remainder around a thick pipe on the wall and padlocked it in place.A length of the metal links pooled in Sam's lap. He would be able to move, but not much.

"There," Mikhail said with satisfaction. "The dog has been chained up. Try getting free of that, Winchester."

Sam glared at him. He knew he wouldn't be able to. His lockpick was in his jacket, and that was still in the car he'd been forced off the road in. Even with it, the heavy looking padlock would probably have beaten him.

"Make yourself as comfortable as you can," Mikhail said. "You will be here a long time."He strode out closely followed by the female angel.

Sam looked around the room, with its polished wood counter and white porcelain basins, and cursed. He wasn't going to be able to get out of here anytime soon.

* * *

><p>Bartholomew paced back and forth behind his desk. He stopped occasionally to stare out of the window with a furrowed brow before moving on again.<p>

Mikhail watched his movements with anxiety. When he had been summoned into the office, he thought it was for a progress update on the Winchester, and he had been loath to deliver it, as the hunter still hadn't broken, but Bartholomew hadn't asked for information, he had just paced.

There was a knock on the door then, and Mikhail turned. Without breaking step, Bartholomew bid the newcomer enter.

"Ahh, Isabella," Bartholomew said indulgently as the matronly woman entered. "I see you were successful."

"Yes, Sir. I procured what will be needed." In her hand was a box with medical insignia pasted on the side.

"Mikhail, this is Isabella," Bartholomew said, waving an airy hand. "She was Naomi's protégé in Heaven."

Mikhail nodded a greeting. He had seen her before in the halls, but had never taken the time to know her.

"Isabella believes that she has the solution to the Gadreel problem," Bartholomew said.

Mikhail balked. He was supposed to be the solution to the Gadreel problem. If given long enough with the Winchester,he would be. All that was needed was the right motivation and the boy would break. They would learn where Gadreel was lurking.

Oblivious or perhaps uncaring to Mikhail's discomfort, Bartholomew went on. "She believes there is a way to trace him using the grace that still resides within Sam. Admittedly, it will not help us find Castiel, but I am compromising. Killing Gadreel will be a hell of a check in the to-do list."

"How will we use the grace?" Mikhail asked.

"If we extract the grace from the vessel, there is a spell that can be used to trace Gadreel. Isabella has the equipment needed."

"If it is grace we need, I can deliver. I can bleed the boy until only grace remains."

Bartholomew laughed. "I admire your spirit, Mikhail, but there is an easier way for us. We need to extract the grace in a controlled manner, and Isabella is the answer."

Mikhail sent her a look of loathing, which she returned.

"Now, now," Bartholomew scolded. "I will not have grudges within the ranks. You have both been very helpful, and I will reward you when the time is right. For now, let us concentrate on the immediate problem. Isabella, if you would."

She snapped open the clasp and revealed a stainless steel syringe with a glass chamber. "This will enable us to remove the grace directly from him," she said. "There will be no wastage, which will enable us to complete the spell. I have purchased the other ingredients required."

"Wonderful," Bartholomew said happily. "Isabella, you prepare the spell while Mikhail and I retrieve the last ingredient."

She nodded and Bartholomew took the case from her then made his way to the door. Mikhail followed him out, and they walked in silence to the bathroom.

Bartholomew swung open the door and called a greeting to their captive.

The Winchester had been sitting on the tiled floor with his legs under him, but he struggled to get to his feet when they entered.

"No need to stand," Bartholomew said. "You will be on the floor again soon enough."

Sam glared at them. "You really think so?"

"I do," Mikhail sneered.

Bartholomew moved closer to the young man and Mikhail saw with satisfaction that he was uncomfortable. He moved back slightly so his shoulders were pressed against the wall.

"I will give you one last chance to save your life, Sam," Bartholomew said. "Tell us everything, where Castiel is and what Gadreel is doing, and I will let you live. Refuse, and I will drawn every atom of grace from you, and then I will leave you to Mikhail's ministrations again."

"Screw you."

Bartholomew tutted. "Very well. Mikhail, please hold him. I need access to his throat."

Mikhail tugged on the chains so they pooled around the Winchester's shoulders then he gripped his chin and forced his head up.

"This is going to hurt," he said gleefully.

Bartholomew pressed the tip of the needle to his captive's throat and forced it in hard. Mikhail heard the sound of skin and flesh ripping in its path, and he tightened his grip on his throat, holding him in place as the human's legs weakened.

Bartholomew began to draw up on the plunger and Mikhail saw with wonder the blue-white grace filling the chamber.

The Winchester bucked as if being electrocuted and a groan of pain slipped from him. Mikhail smiled at the sound.

"Hmmm," Bartholomew mused. "Do you see what is happening, Mikhail?"

Mikhail drew his attention from the Winchester's face and examined him more carefully. His skin was beaded with sweat and his already pale skin was losing the little color it had.

"It is regressing," Mikhail said.

"It is indeed. All the healing the betrayer did is being undone. I did not foresee this."

Mikhail was worried he would stop what he was doing. He wanted Gadreel found, but more than that, he wanted the Winchester to suffer. The boy had refused to break, and for that Mikhail wanted retribution. Perhaps if they withdrew enough grace now, undid all that healing, he would finally break.

"Do we stop?" he asked.

"We do not," Bartholomew said and pushed the needle in deeper.

The Winchester became boneless. Mikhail's grip on him was the only thing keeping him upright. His eyes slid closed and his breaths became shallow. Mikhail could see the damage now, seared organs and dying brain cells. It was fascinating how fast he declined.

"I think that's all," Bartholomew said and withdrew the needle. The chamber of the syringe was filled to the brim with grace.

Mikhail released the Winchester and he flopped to the floor with a meaty thud. A small puddle of blood began to form under his head.

Without giving him a second glance, Bartholomew and Mikhail left the prone man on the floor and made their way back to the office.

Isabella had prepared for them in their absence. There was a bowl of ingredients on the desk and she was just lighting the last candle.

Bartholomew positioned the syringe over the bowl, and at Isabella's nod and assertion that it was ready, he twisted it open and poured the grace over the ingredients. Bright, blue-white light blazed and Mikhail and Bartholomew took a step back while Isabella tipped the bowl over a map spread across the desk. The contents of the bowl spread across the map from corner to corner and then receded into a pool at the very center.

"Is that is?" Bartholomew asked, sounding disappointed. "It didn't work."

"It worked," Isabella assured him. She examined the map. "The betrayer is in Kansas."

"That's a big state," Mikhail scoffed. "Anything more useful to report or did we leave our one clue to die for nothing?"

Isabella peered closer. "He is in Kansas, a small town called Lebanon."

* * *

><p>Berieah was talking and Castiel was trying to listen to her, but he found himself drawn to Dean and Kevin's conversation instead. They were working on the laptop, searching traffic violation logs and police reports in hopes of finding a clue to Gadreel's whereabouts through mentions of the motorbike he had taken. Dean said it would be distinctive as it was so old, and that should make it easier to find him. If they just had a vague idea of a location, Castiel could have Berieah and Camael search for him instead of other angels to add to their cause.<p>

They had not found anything of use yet though, and Castiel could see it was wearing on Kevin. Dean, on the other hand, was like a man possessed. He didn't stop to rest for more than a few hours at a time. When he wasn't on the laptop searching, he was in the training room and gun range, firing endless shots at the targets and pummeling a punch bag. Castiel knew it was his way of coping and distracting himself, and he dreaded the moment that ceased to help, as he didn't know what Dean would do then.

As much as Castiel wanted to find Gadreel and Metatron, to kill and avenge, he worried for what would come after for Dean. Unless they could persuade Gadreel to tell them where he had left Sam's body—supposing it hadn't already been cremated as a John Doe—there was no saving him. Castiel had lost his friend, his family, with Sam, and he feared that Dean would follow when their mission was over.

"Someone is coming," Berieah said at the same moment as Castiel heard the footsteps approaching.

Dean looked up, only seeming vaguely interested, and looked at Castiel. "Angel or human?"

"I cannot tell," Castiel admitted. "Stay here."

Dean turned back to the laptop and Castiel moved up the stairs to the door. He couldn't sense an angel through the thick door, but the bunker had not revealed even a few of its secrets to him yet, and he guessed it could be warded.

He unbolted the door and eased it open. On the threshold stood a tall angel with cropped hair.

"I need to see Sam," he said at once.

Confusion clouded Castiel's mind and he didn't immediately realize who it must be. He was bewildered by the fact the man was asking for Sam. It wasn't until he heard Dean's snarl of rage that he understood it must be Gadreel.

Dean's feet pounded the stairs as he raced towards them, his gun drawn and his finger frantically pulling the trigger.

"Dean! Wait!" Castiel shouted.

The bullets met their mark on Gadreel's chest and shoulder, and he jolted back.

Dean's rage was an inarticulate bellow and his eyes were wild with hatred. Castiel acted without thinking, catching him around the waist and holding him back. Dean struggled for all he was worth, but Castiel was stronger.

"Wait, Dean," he pleaded. "We need to speak to him."

"He… Sam… Dead!" Dean shouted. "Let me go."

Castiel wanted to attack, too. He wanted to hurt the angel that had been the cause of Sam's death, either by his own hand or because he hadn't been there when it mattered, but he recognized the wealth of information he was.

Regretfully, he pressed his fingers to Dean's temple, sending him into unconsciousness, and then eased him gently into Berieah's arms as she raced to his side.

Gadreel watched it all happen, looking bemused. "Where is Sam?" he asked. "I need to speak to him."

The fact he was asking, daring to say the name with familiarity, made Castiel's rage surge. "He's dead, you son of a bitch!"

Gadreel looked confused for a moment, and then opened his mouth to speak, but before he could articulate his question or defense, Castiel's fist connected with his temple, knocking him out cold.

* * *

><p><strong>So… Sam's still stuck with Bart and his legion of dicks and Gadreel's made an appearance. The next chapter was one of my favorites to write, so I am looking forward to you reading it. <strong>

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	23. Chapter 23

**Thanks to Jenjoremy for beta'ing and Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all their help and support.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chapter Twenty-Three<strong>_

* * *

><p>"<em>You never did understand, Castiel. There can be no peace without bloodshed."<em>

* * *

><p>Dean was shouting before his eyes were even all the way open. "Castiel!"<p>

The angel must have been standing right outside his bedroom, as he swept open the door and appeared at once.

The sight of him, looking calm and unapologetic, made Dean's fury rise to the back of his throat like bile. "Don't you ever, _ever, _do that again!"

"I make no promises," Castiel said serenely.

Dean struggled from the bed and stalked forwards. "I swear, you do that to me again, I will shove you in a circle of holy fire and leave you there till the end of time."

Castiel sighed and bowed his head. "I am sorry, Dean, I didn't want to do it, but you would have killed him, and—"

"You're telling me he's still alive? Dammit, Cas!"

"He is still alive," Castiel confirmed. "I thought he would be more useful to us as a source of information than as a corpse."

Dean shook his head. Castiel just didn't get it. That _thing_ was the reason Sam was dead. He'd killed him. Nothing mattered more than that. Metatron could keep screwing the angels over until the end of time as far as he was concerned as long as Sam was avenged.

"What the hell did you do?"

"I did what was necessary. Gadreel is securely restrained."

Dean raked his hands through his hair in frustration. He didn't want to hear that the angel was restrained. He wanted to hear that he was burning in a pool of holy fire or being dismembered or having his guts presented to him as a treat. He wanted to hear that Sam's loss was being remembered by someone other than him.

"So, has he given up anything yet?" Dean asked.

"I haven't questioned him. I thought you deserved to be there when we spoke."

Dean conceded the point. He would have been even more pissed if Castiel had been talking with Gadreel without him there, but the least he could have done was kill some time by hurting the traitor instead of standing outside Dean's door like a sentry.

"Where is he?" he asked.

"In the dungeon."

"Awesome," Dean said sarcastically. "You've stuck the psycho angel in with the King of Hell. Think they'll have anything to talk about?"

"Dean," Castiel said softly, "I know you are angry, but I did what needed to be done. I want Gadreel dead, too, but more than that, I want to know what happened to Sam. When Gadreel came, he said he needed to speak to Sam. He doesn't know Sam is… gone."

Dean laughed bitterly. "I'll be sure to send him a death notice next time."

"But don't you see? If he is asking for Sam, it means he didn't kill him. Someone else did."

"Like that matters. If he'd been with Sam when he was supposed to be, none of this would have happened."

"I agree," Castiel said. "He should die for what he did, but not before we have gathered all the information he possesses."

Dean was relieved to hear Castiel say it. He was half afraid that he was going to insist on keeping Gadreel alive in some kind of angel bros before bros that actually give a crap.

"It's just… Sam's dead, Cas," Dean said quietly. "Someone needs to pay."

Castiel looked mournful. "I know. I feel the same. But I have other priorities, too. You insisted that I take the mantle of leader again, and I owe it to the angels at my command to find Metatron. Gadreel might be the key. But when we have learned what happened and why, I will help you kill him."

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. "Okay."

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself a little, and then made his way out of the room with Castiel following.

He heard Crowley's voice long before he reached the storeroom that covered the entrance to the dungeon. "A little conversation, that's all I ask," he said. "C'mon, angel pet, don't be shy."

There was no response from Gadreel, for which Dean was grateful. It was going to be hard enough to face him for questioning without ending him. If he thought the angel was actually enjoying his time in there with Crowley, he wouldn't be able to control himself.

Dean braced himself before going in, trying to fix the fact that they needed information before they needed Gadreel's death in his mind. Castiel laid a comforting hand on his shoulder and then walked past and entered the dungeon. Dean followed.

Gadreel was chained to the wall with his arms held above him. He looked tensed and annoyed, but his expression morphed into relief when he caught sight of Dean and Castiel.

Dean wanted to kill him there and then. The fact that this monster was still living and breathing and able to feel anything like relief was wrong. Because of him, Sam was dead and unable to feel anything, let alone relief. Gadreel had no right to feel anything.

"Hey, Squirrel," Crowley said cheerfully. "I guess I should say thanks for the roomie, but next time can you pick someone a little more talkative?"

"Can it, Crowley," Dean replied brutally, fixing his gaze on the chained angel. "Okay, you winged asshole, you're going to answer our questions, or I will hurt you. Understand?"

Gadreel looked annoyed. "Where is Sam?"

"Dead," Crowley said without a hint of remorse. "Our poor Moose has gone to the great grazing land in the sky. Didn't you know?"

Dean stepped around the table and punched Crowley across the jaw. It gave him little satisfaction, but he would take what he could get.

"What happened to him?" Gadreel asked, looking confused and even a little bit upset.

"We were going to ask you the same thing," Castiel said. "You seem more in a position of knowledge than us. Why did you leave him?"

"Because Metatron found us," Gadreel said, "and I had no other choice." He looked at Castiel. "Why did you not save him?"

Castiel looked annoyed. "Because I don't know where he is! We only have the picture."

Gadreel's eyebrows rose. "Picture? Oh. You saw the picture of Sam in that motel?"

"How do you know about that?" Dean asked through gritted teeth.

"Because I was the one that took it." Gadreel smiled slightly. "Of course I should have realized seeing it himself was not enough. Metatron would want to hurt you, too. It doesn't explain where he is now though."

"Did that make sense to anyone but him?" Crowley interrupted. "'Cause I like to think I'm an intelligent demon, but I'm coming up blank."

Dean barely heard what Crowley was saying. The words that looped around his mind overwhelmed him. _'I was the one that took it.'_

"It _was_ you," he breathed. "You killed Sam."

"Yes," Gadreel said simply.

Dean started forward, ready to pummel the angel until he had no strength left, but Castiel beat him to it. He swung an arm through the air and his fist made contact with Gadreel's cheek, making his head snap to the side. "You son of a bitch!" he bellowed.

Crowley was laughing and Castiel was raining blows on Gadreel and Dean was stunned into inertia. He didn't know what to say or do.

"Nice right hook!" Crowley said with glee. "Go on, Cas, make him pay for Moose!"

Castiel stepped back panting and Dean laid a hand on his arm. "Easy, Cas. We'll get to that, but I want to know what happened first."

Castiel nodded and fixed his eyes on Gadreel. "Talk."

"I killed Sam," Gadreel said again, "because I was forced to for the sake of the mission, but I—"

This time it was Dean's punch that silenced Gadreel. The way he said it, as if it didn't even matter that Sam was dead as long as it was for the mission, made his rage surge again.

Gadreel shook his head. "I killed him, but I saved him, too."

Dean took an involuntary step back. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I resurrected him. When I left Sam, he was alive."

"When was this?" Castiel asked intensely.

"A week ago."

Castiel turned to Dean and a fanatical light was blazing in his eyes. "He might not be…"

"Tell me everything," Dean snarled.

"Metatron found us," Gadreel said. "He offered me a chance to join him again and I accepted. He had killed so many angels, so many of our kind dead…"

"Boohoo," Crowley said sarcastically, but no one responded other than Gadreel who shot him a sharp look.

"I knew I had to stop him. I had to join him, so I made a deal: Sam's death and another's in exchange for returning to him. I killed Ezra and then we made arrangements to meet again. I went to Sam and explained. He was the one that pointed out that we needed proof." Gadreel locked eyes on Dean. "It was his decision. He was the one that said I should do it."

"What did you do?" Castiel asked.

"I killed him. I used my grace to end his life and then I took the photographs as proof for Metatron."

"But you saved him, too?" Dean asked, hope burgeoning inside of him.

Gadreel nodded his confirmation. "I resurrected him."

Dean's hand reached out and gripped Castiel's arm to steady himself as emotion rocked through him. "Sam's…alive?"

Gadreel nodded. "He was when I left him."

Dean turned away. He felt wetness at his eyes and he blinked to clear his vision. Tears of relief slipped down his cheeks and he swiped them away. Sam was alive. It was too much and not enough at the same time. He had lived a week thinking Sam was dead, one of the hardest weeks of his life, and now he was hearing that it had been for nothing. Sam was alive.

"Where is he now?" Castiel asked and Dean turned back to see Gadreel shake his head.

"I don't know. I left him in Pennsylvania, and he was supposed to come back to you. I don't understand why he's not here."

"Before, at the cabin, you left Sam and he was messed us," Dean said slowly. "Could he have…?"

"I don't believe so. I healed him enough and infused him with enough grace to sustain him longer than a week. My plan was that he would be able to reach Castiel to finish his healing."

"Okay. So we need to find him." Dean nodded to himself. This was good. This was more than good. It was everything. Sam was alive.

A laugh bubbled out of him and he felt all eyes fall on him.

"He's alive," he said in a shaky voice.

"Yes," Castiel agreed; his tone was light with happiness.

"Which is awesome and all," Crowley said. "But where is he? Seems to me that you're just as screwed as you ever were. The moose should be back here by now, right?" He leered at Dean. "Think you might need a little help there, Squirrel? Maybe we could make, you know, a deal."

Castiel cleared his throat. "I hate to admit it, but the demon might be right. Sam has had more than enough time to reach us by now, so…"

"So where the hell is he?" Dean finished for him.

* * *

><p>"I don't like it," Castiel said for what felt like the hundredth time.<p>

"Neither do I," Dean admitted. "But we've got to find him, Cas, and I'm not seeing another option here."

"I think it's a terrible idea," Kevin chimed in. "But I'd probably say that about most of the plans you've ever had, and they worked out."

Dean raised an eyebrow and Castiel said, "I gave him an abbreviated version of your history."

Dean, Castiel and Kevin were seated around the table in the library. Gadreel and Crowley were still chained in the dungeon, and Berieah was in the kitchen, practicing her skill on the coffee maker.

"It's the only idea we've got, Cas," Dean said. "We have to trust him to come through on his end of the deal."

"Trust the King of Hell." Castiel looked skeptical.

"He's bound by contracts as much as we are," Dean argued. "He's the only one who has even a chance of finding Sam. I know you've got the makings of an army, but their wings are clipped. Crowley's the only one who can hop around the country looking for him."

"Which means we must give him his freedom," Castiel said dourly. "I want Sam back, too, but how do we know this is what he would want? Freeing Crowley could give us a bigger problem than the ones we already have. Metatron is enough of a foe already, and Abaddon, do we really want to add Crowley to that?"

"Abaddon has been silent for weeks now," Dean countered. "And she's not my problem right now. She's Crowley's. I'm betting she's sitting pretty on his throne in Hell, filing her nails and roasting souls on a spit."

Kevin breathed out in a gust. "So basically it's a choice between getting Sam back now and dealing with crap later, or having no Sam and a useless demon trapped in the dungeon. You know I hate Crowley and want to see him dead more than almost anything, but I also want to find Sam. From what you're saying, he wasn't in the best of health when Gadreel dumped him, and the fact he hasn't made his own way back here yet… I know which one I choose."

"Me, too." Dean said. "It's down to you, Cas. I've proven my decision-making processes are pretty shitty lately. What do you think?"

It burned Dean to even ask the question. He knew what he wanted and that was his brother. But he had to think of the bigger picture for once. If getting Sam back now meant losing him to Crowley later, it wasn't worth it.

Castiel sighed. "We need to word the deal carefully. We cannot allow him even a little room to turn it on us. He cannot be trusted."

"No shit," Kevin said.

"We're doing it?" Dean asked hopefully.

Castiel nodded. "Yes."

Dean shoved his chair back, scraping it against the floor noisily, and made for the dungeon.

When he got there, closely followed by Castiel and Kevin, he found Crowley humming to himself happily and Gadreel sitting with his eyes closed and a pained expression on his face.

"Squirrel," Crowley said happily. "Can I assume from the constipated look on Cas' face that you've decided to make a deal?"

"Maybe," Dean said evasively.

"Wonderful," Crowley said. "Let's get me free and hunting, shall we?"

"We need to clarify a few things first," Castiel said. "The terms of the deal are that you will find Sam for us, putting that mission before any of your own plans. When you find him, you will bring him to us. If, and only if, he is brought here, alive and unharmed by you, Dean will agree a favor in return."

Crowley nodded. "Sounds good to me. I'll get Moose back, no worries, and you will owe me. It's a solid deal, and I'll even throw something extra is for Kev there."

"Like what?" Kevin asked.

"Not yet," Crowley said. "First things first, Dean and I are going to shake."

Dena hesitated and glanced at Castiel who nodded before stepping forward and taking Crowley's hand.

Crowley beamed at him. "Pleasure doing business with you. Now, if you would be so good as to get rid of these shackles, I'll get going."

Dean pulled the keys from his pocket and set to work freeing Crowley. As the chains fell away, Crowley stood and stretched. "Ahhh, that's better. Now, the devil's trap."

Dean pulled out his gun and aimed carefully at the edge of the trap. He pulled the trigger and the line of paint was broken.

Crowley stepped out of the now defunct trap and smiled. "Okay then. One moose coming up."

"Wait," Kevin said. "What about me?"

Crowley smiled indulgently. "Castle Storage, Wichita. You might find something to interest you there."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asked.

"Sorry," Crowley said. "I'm all out of time. Got stuff to be doing, you know." He clicked his fingers and disappeared.

"I need a car," Kevin said quickly.

"Garage full of them," Dean said. "Cas, you mind going with him?"

Castiel shook his head. "I will send Berieah. I should be here when Sam returns."

Kevin jogged from the room, calling Berieah's name, and Dean turned his attention to Gadreel. He had remained silent throughout their conversation with Crowley, following it all with interested eyes, but now he spoke up.

"You do realize you just made a terrible mistake, don't you?"

"Kevin can take care of himself," Dean said idly. "And he's got an angel on his shoulder."

"I meant your deal with the abomination," he said. "Sam will not be happy about it."

Dean shrugged. "Sam's rarely happy these days. As long as he's here and alive, I'm not going to sweat a few bitch fits."

"And when the demon turns on you?" Gadreel asked.

"Like I said, as long as my brother's here and alive…"

Dean would take anything else Sam and the world threw at him. Just as long as he was there.

He turned and walked out of the dungeon, but before he could get more than a few paces, Crowley appeared in front of him again.

"You already found him?" Dean asked hopefully.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "Not yet. In fact, we have something of a problem…"

"What problem?" Dean asked.

"A bunch of angels are on their way," Crowley said. "Seemed like the kind of news I should share."

Dean cursed. "How many?"

"A dozen maybe. I didn't exactly stop to do a headcount. They look pissed through, and they are definitely heading this way."

"Gadreel," Dean spat turning to face the angel. "Is this you?"

"I don't believe so," he replied calmly. "Metatron believes I am out recruiting at the moment. He won't expect me back for a few days yet. I have not told him anything about this place, certainly not the location. That would have left Kevin at risk."

Stowing the fact Kevin was apparently on the angel's BFF list for some reason, Dean asked, "And you haven't been talking with him on angel radio?"

"No. I have been careful to remain silent since Metatron's pronouncement that I should be killed. I didn't want anyone to be able to trace me."

"Tick tock, gentlemen," Crowley said. "Angels at the door and all. What are we going to do?"

"We?" Castiel looked confused.

"Call it a gesture of goodwill," Crowley said. "Seems to me there's no point me saving the moose if you two are already dead. Besides, I might need that favor one day."

"What are we going to do, Cas?" Dean asked.

Castiel turned to Crowley. "Did you recognize any of them?"

"Not one, but I heard someone call the bossy looking one Bartholomew. That name ring any bells?"

Dean groaned. Castiel had told him about Bartholomew, the head of one of the factions. He was the one that had vowed to kill Gadreel, whatever packaging he was in. Dean wanted to kill him for that on principle alone. He'd planned to do it on his own terms though, when he was ready, not because they'd decided to storm the place.

"We go out to them," Castiel said thoughtfully. "Face them before they reach the bunker."

"Awesome," Dean said. "Only there's the slight problem of there being a dozen of them and only two of us."

"Three," Crowley corrected, "I'm invested. And you could always free Hot Wings here." He nodded to Gadreel.

"Hell no," Dean growled. "I'm not letting him go anywhere."

"Berieah," Castiel shouted, and a moment later the angel burst into the room, her blade drawn.

"What's wrong?" she asked at once, sensing the tension in the room.

"Bartholomew is on his way," Castiel replied.

"Okay, now there's four of us," Dean said.

"It will be enough," Crowley said confidently. "Full of the power of Hell, remember?"

The odds were stacked against them, but, as usual, they had no choice but to go with it. It wasn't the first time they'd come out on top when all logic said they were the ones who were screwed. Dean didn't mind admitting he wished Sam was there though.

"I need a weapon," he said, striding from the room.

He passed Kevin in the hall and barked at him to stay inside no matter what before moving onto the armory. Kevin was the only one who had a shot at taking down Metatron if they were killed; he was the prophet after all. Dean wasn't overly afraid though. Fate had made him believe Sam was dead and then brought him back again. She wouldn't be such a bitch as to kill him off now before he got a chance to kick Sam's ass for everything he'd done.

He took two angel blades from the cabinet and jogged to the library where the others were waiting for him.

"Don't open the door to anyone but us, Kevin," he said harshly, tossing the spare blade to Crowley.

"Secret knock?" Kevin asked hopefully.

"Sure," Crowley said before Dean could answer. "He'll tap out the Battle Hymn of the Republic for you."

Kevin scowled. "You're an ass, you know that?"

Crowley clutched a hand to his chest. "I'm truly hurt."

"Yeah, sure you are," Dean said. "Now, are we going after these angels or should we start digging our own graves now?"

"We are ready," Castiel said firmly.

He led them from the dungeon, and Dean jogged to catch up with him. "This isn't going to help your fading grace problem, is it?"

Castiel didn't answer, which was enough for Dean. They were really screwed. The only one among them who seemed unconcerned was Crowley; he was humming to himself.

Dean was expecting to face Bartholomew's forces the moment they got outside, but they were nowhere in sight. The day was warm and quiet. Dean wondered if Crowley was screwing with them all, but Castiel and Berieah still looked tensed for attack, which made him think they were seeing or hearing something he wasn't.

They set off along the road towards town, and Dean hurried to keep pace. They were just reaching the play park where Castiel had addressed his recruits when they stopped and drew their blades. Dean gripped his own in his fist and waited.

He was about to ask Castiel what was happening when he saw them coming. The tall dude at the front was flanked by a statuesque woman and a man who clearly hadn't been thinking of looks when he chose his vessel—his face was twisted and mottled with scars. Behind them were another eight angels, each wielding his or her own blade and their expressions identical with hatred.

"Okay," Dean said softly. "Any time you want to show off your full power of hell crap, Crowley, you go for it."

"Wait," Castiel said. "We may be able to settle this without bloodshed."

Dean thought that was optimistic to the point of stupidity, but he didn't comment. When they were about twenty feet apart, Bartholomew came to a stop and looked across at them. "Castiel," he said. "I am not here to fight. Give us the betrayer and we will leave peacefully."

His words were contradicted by Scar Face at his side. He looked like he wanted nothing more than to cut their throats. Dean felt the same urge. He wanted every one of these angels bleeding at his feet, so maybe, just maybe, he'd feel better.

"I do not have him," Castiel lied.

Bartholomew looked disappointed. "You are lying to me. After everything I we have done together, you owe me better than that."

"I owe you nothing," Castiel said. "You let Adriel attempt to kill me. You threatened Sam Winchester. There is nothing between us now."

"The Winchester," Scar Face said with an amused smile. "That's what it all comes down to, isn't it? Pity we killed him already really. It would have been more fun to see your face when it happened."

Despite the twist of fear in his gut, Dean remained impassive. "We'd believe that if we hadn't already had that trick played on us once this week."

Bartholomew sighed. "How do you think we knew where to find Gadreel? We siphoned out all the grace that was holding the boy together and used it for a location spell."

Dean shook his head. "I don't believe you."

Scar Face sneered at him. "Maybe you don't, but Castiel does."

Dean chanced a glance to the side and saw Castiel's tension. He was making a good attempt at hiding it, but Dean could see he was worried. Dean was too now. He didn't let his emotion show though. It would work out. They would take these sons of bitches out and then he would find Sam. Dead or alive, they would save him.

"Bollocks to this," Crowley said. One moment he was standing beside Dean, the next he was behind an angel at the back of Bartholomew's group, sliding a blade into her chest so it speared her straight through. Every eye fell on him as he drew it back, sending her to the floor with a thud. "Let's get this party started."

Chaos broke out. The angels surged forward and Castiel and Crowley threw themselves into to fray. Berieah stepped in front of Dean, blocking his view of what was happening. He could hear a high-pitched whine though that told him an angel was dying, and Crowley was chanting Latin like his life depended on it.

Berieah was shoved aside and Scar Face loomed over Dean. "He cried for you, you know?" he said, circling Dean. "Your brother begged for his life."

White hot rage pulsed through Dean and he struck out with the blade in his hand. The tip speared Scar Face's shoulder and he grunted with pain.

"That's going to cost you," he said, stepping into Dean's space.

Dean struck out again, but the angel blocked him. He jabbed at Dean, sending searing pain into him. Dean's hand moved to his stomach and came away bloody. Dean stumbled forward, intent upon killing. Scar Face laughed as he swiped Dean's hand away with his own. With his left hand clamped over the wound, Dean stepped back, but Scar Face just moved closer.

"Are you going to beg, too?" he asked.

"Screw you," Dean snarled.

Scar Face held Dean's shoulder in a viselike grip and brought his blade up, but before he could strike the killing blow Crowley appeared behind him. He had two blades in his hands now, and he shoved them both through Scar Face's neck diagonally. Bright light blazed and Dean fell back as the grip on his shoulder fell away.

When the light cleared, Crowley was grinning and the angel was dead on the ground.

"You're welcome," he said cheerfully.

Dean looked around and saw that the fight was over for everyone else too. There were a few dazed looking people standing in a huddle over by a climbing frame and other bodies littering the ground. Bartholomew was kneeling in front of Castiel, with Berieah's blade at his back.

"Where is Sam?" Castiel asked.

Bartholomew looked up with fury in his eyes. "Kill me and you'll never know."

"We won't kill you," Castiel said dourly. "We will do something far worse."

"Do it, Castiel," Berieah said. "You need it. We need you to take it."

Castiel looked torn as he laid the tip of his blade across Bartholomew's throat. Then he pressed gently down and a trickle of blood welled in the wound. Something more poured from the wound, too, grace, and Castiel tilted back his head and it flowed into him.

"Close your eyes, Dean," Berieah said.

Dean obeyed without thought. There was a shrill whining sound and then Castiel spoke. "It's okay now. It's done."

Dean opened his eyes and looked at Castiel. He was different. The shadows under his eyes that Dean had grown accustomed to were gone. He seemed to emanate indefinable power. Bartholomew remained kneeling at his feet with tears slipping down his cheeks.

"Where is Sam?" Castiel asked.

Bartholomew shook his head dolefully. "He's dead, Castiel."

Dean strode forward and punched him hard. Blood flowed from Bartholomew's nose and his head rocked back.

"Where is my brother?" he asked in a low, dangerous tone.

"One-five-five South Street, Phoenix," Bartholomew said in a muffled voice as his hand came up to cup his injured nose. "That is where you will find his body."

Dean turned away and looked at Crowley. "You heard him. Get me there."

"As you wish," Crowley said with a grin. He looked to Castiel. "What do you think, Cas? Want to come along for the ride?"

Castiel nodded and cast the crying Bartholomew a scathing glace. "I will come."

Crowley clapped his hands together. "Let's go find us a moose."

* * *

><p><strong>So… what did you think? The fight scene was so much fun to write. I know Dean didn't come off so well, but he was up against an angel, and I thought it would be too unrealistic for him to be the one kicking ass. <strong>

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	24. Chapter 24

**Thanks to Jenjoremy for beta'ing and to SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for making the words flow.**

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Twenty-Four<strong>_

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><p>"<em>Sam, the trials. You chose not to go through with them for a reason, didn't you? You chose to live rather than to sacrifice yourself. You and Dean... You chose each other<em>_."_

* * *

><p>Moments later, they landed in a plush reception room. The only being in sight was a man standing beside the elevator doors, and Dean gripped the angel blade tightly in his hand as he strode towards him. "Where's my brother?" he demanded, resting the tip of the blade against his throat.<p>

"That is not an angel, Dean," Castiel said soberly.

Dean almost laughed. As if he cared whether the man was human or angel. The blade in his hand would kill either way if he didn't get the information he needed.

"Tall guy, floppy mop of hair, we call him Moose," Crowley prompted.

The man flinched back. "I saw them bring him in a week ago. I haven't seen him since. He was taken to Bartholomew on the fifth floor."

Dean's finger mashed against the elevator button and his foot tapped the floor impatiently as it descended. When the car opened, people spewed out. There was no question that these were angels as each wielded a long, silver sword. Dean was shoved roughly back,and he pressed himself against the wall as Crowley and Castiel set to work fighting them.

"Go, Dean!" Castiel shouted, even as he slid his blade into another angel's chest. "Find Sam!"

Dean threw himself into the elevator and pressed the button for floor five. The doors slid closed slowly, too slowly, and he growled his frustration. When they opened again on the fifth floor, Dean leapt out of them and scanned the hall. There were several doors to choose from, but Bartholomew's office was instantly discernible with its polished wood double doors. He shoved them open and burst inside, his eyes sweeping the room, searching for a sign of Sam. He wasn't there, but Dean's eyes fell on a plush wingchair under the window that was stained with what looked horribly like blood. He didn't want to think of whose blood it was, but his mind stubbornly presented him with an image of Sam bleeding out in that chair.

He shook his head and left the room. He quickly searched the dozen or so other rooms on the floor, including one with a studio background he recognized from Buddy Boyle's podcasts. As he found the second to last room empty, he felt a wave of helplessness. He wished they'd brought Bartholomew with them. He could have beaten Sam's location out of him and smiled doing it.

He stepped back into the hall and looked up and down. There was only one door he hadn't tried as not even a douchebag angel would be cruel enough to do that, but he had no other options on this floor.

He eased open the bathroom door and stopped dead in his tracks for a second as he processed what he was seeing.

Sam was there. He was lying on the floor with his legs at an awkward angle. A small puddle of blood pooled beneath his head. Around his neck was a thick chain and his skin was ashen. There was a blue tinge around his lips. He looked dead.

"Castiel!"

Dean stumbled forward and dropped to his knees beside him.

"Please be alive," he murmured. "Please, Sam."His hand shook as he pressed two fingers to Sam's throat. His skin was cool, but when Dean searched, he found a fast, thready pulse. Sighing with relief, he patted Sam's cheek. "Sam! Sammy! Wake up, man."

Sam's head jostled but there was no other movement from him. His eyes remained stubbornly closed. Dean hated the sight of the chains around Sam's neck; they made him look like an animal. He fumbled with the padlock, but it refused to open.

The door banged open behind him, and he turned to see Castiel standing on the threshold. His usual calm and collected manner had been replaced by fury. He crossed the room in long strides and knelt beside Dean, his pants soaking in the blood.

"He's alive," Dean said, "but I can't get him to wake up."

"He is gravely ill," Castiel observed.

Like Dean didn't already know that. You only had to look at Sam to see he was teetering on the line between life and death. It was obvious from his pallor and shallow breaths.

"Help him," Dean growled.

Castiel nodded. "I will do what I can."

He rested his hand on Sam's temple so gently it looked as if he was afraid too firm a touch would send the young man across the line into death. He closed his eyes and looked to be deep in concentration. Dean's eyes were locked on Sam's face and he waited with bated breath for some sigh of life. Finally Sam winced and his eyelids fluttered; for just a moment he looked into Dean's eyes. Then those hazel eyes fell closed again and he stilled.

"Is that it?" Dean barked in frustration.

"I have done what I can for now," Castiel said slowly. "There is much to do."

Dean nodded and turned his attention to Sam again. "Sammy," he said softly. "You're okay. I'm here."

There was movement behind them, and Crowley's voice drawled through the silent room. "Whoa. Look at Moose. What did they do to him?"

Neither Dean nor Castiel answered him. Dean was fumbling with the chains again. The sight of them was making his stomach roll.

Castiel brushed his hands away and tugged two links apart. The chains broke and he slipped them gently from Sam's neck.

When Sam was freed, Dean eased his head up gently onto his thighs. It could have been wishful thinking, but he thought Sam's skin already felt a little warmer against his hands. He pressed his hand to Sam's cheek, not sure if he was seeking to reassure Sam or himself.

"So, wanna get out of here?" Crowley asked.

Dean nodded without turning. "Take us back to the bunker."

""Yessir, boss."

Dean eased Sam from him and squatted at his head, looping his arms under Sam's shoulders while Castiel moved to grip Sam's knees. Dean knew the angel could have easily held Sam alone, but he wanted to be helping Sam, holding him, as if by keeping a strong enough grip on him, he could keep him from slipping away again.

Crowley cast them a glance and then they were in motion. Dean's grip on Sam tightened and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were in the library of the bunker.

"Wasn't sure where you wanted to be dropped off," Crowley commented. "Not like I got the grandtour when you brought me here."

Dean ignored him and looked at Castiel. "I want him in my room."

His room. That was an actual home, not Sam's room, which was as generic as any motel room. He wantedhis brother to be somewhere familiar, somewhere comforting, when he woke up.

They struggled through the halls with Sam hanging between them like a doll. His head lolled and Dean found the sight sickening. He locked his eyes on Castiel instead, seeing the tight line of his lips and his deeply furrowed brow. In the bedroom, they eased Sam onto the bed, and Dean stepped back. He had gotten him this far. Sam was home, unconscious and deathly ill, but still there. It was more than he hoped for at the start of the week.

"I should go," Castiel said reluctantly. "Berieah may need me, and I cannot help Sam any more right now."

Dean nodded, his eyes fixed on Sam. "Okay," he said dully.

"I will come back."

"I know."

Dean felt Castiel's presence leave the room and he sighed. "Just me and you again, Sammy."

For all the response he got from Sam, he might as well have stayed silent. Sam lay still, the only movement was his shallow breathing. Dean felt his cheek again and found that it still wasn't as warm as it should be, so he pulled a blanket from the dresser and laid it over he grabbed a chair and sat down beside the bed. He wouldn't leave Sam alone. He would wait until he woke or until Castiel came back and got to healing again.

* * *

><p>Castiel followed the voices through the halls to the dungeon. Gadreel was still chained in place, but he now had company. Tied to the chair that Crowley had resided in for so long was Bartholomew. He was the one talking, trying to persuade Berieah to let him go, but she seemed immune to his words as she stood with her arms folded across her chest. Kevin, standing by the door, was the only one engaging with him.<p>

"You kidnapped Sam, tortured the crap out of him according to Crowley, and now you want us to let you go? You do know how dumb that is, right?"

"There are rules in war, child," Bartholomew said. "I followed them, and now you must as well. Castiel had his vengeance, stealing my grace, and now the rules dictate that I should be freed."

Kevin laughed. "Have you met Dean? Castiel might let you go, but Dean sure as hell won't. You really screwed up when you took Sam."

"And you were warned," Castiel added, stepping into the room.

Bartholomew licked his dry lips. His nose was bruised and swollen, but the flow of blood had ceased. He looked pale and tired but still infinitely better than Sam. Anger rolled through Castiel. Sam had done nothing to him, but Bartholomew had brought him to the point of death in his war. He had no right to look anywhere near as well as he did when Sam was barely hanging onto life just on the other side of the bunker.

"Yes, Castiel," Bartholomew said. "You warned me and I didn't heed you. I have learned my lesson. Free me now and I will hurt no one else."

Castiel looked amused. "You will not have the chance**."**

Berieah turned to him. "What are you going to do, Castiel?" She didn't sound as if she cared much whether her former commander was killed. She merely sounded interested.

"I am undecided," Castiel said. "I could wipe his memory and leave him to roam the streets." That was tempting as Castiel knew just how brutal that life could be. "Or I could kill him."

Bartholomew swallowed hard. "You won't kill me."

"Perhaps not. But then again, it is not my choice to make. It seems to me that the choice of your end belongs to the Winchesters. They are the ones you hurt the most."

That was no comfort to Bartholomew, Castiel knew. Sam and Dean were infamous, and the deaths at their hands—generally deserved—were well known, too.

Castiel wanted a little retribution of his own though, and he didn't want to be observed while he attained it. He turned to Berieah and Kevin. "Your excursion to Wichita was interrupted. Would you like to go now?"

Kevin nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah. I mean… Is that okay? You don't need me here?"

Castiel shook his head. "There is nothing you can do here now. Go, but…"

"What?" Kevin asked.

"Remember that it was Crowley who sent you on this journey. He finds amusement in others' suffering. If you do not find what you are hoping to find—"

"I know," Kevin interrupted. "But I have to see. If I'm wrong…" He shrugged. "I've lived through it once already."

He smiled slightly and then he left the room followed by Berieah.

Castiel waited until their footsteps had faded away and then he stalked toward Bartholomew. He shoved the table that was between them to the side and stood in front of him. The collar that Crowley had worn for weeks wasn't around his throat. It was resting on the back of the chair. Castiel remembered how they had found Sam, with that chain around his neck like a dog. Bartholomew deserved no better than that. He picked up the collar and snapped it tightly around Bartholomew's neck.

"There," he said with satisfaction. "That looks better."

"That wasn't me," Bartholomew said. "It was Mikhail who chained him up."

"Sam was chained up?" Gadreel asked, speaking up for the first time. He sounded different, his tone was inflected with an emotion that Castiel couldn't define. "Castiel, where is Sam now?"

"He is here," Castiel said. "He is healing."

"Healing from what?"

"Why don't you tell him, Bartholomew?" Castiel asked. "Tell him how you chained Sam in a bathroom, even though he was unconscious and unable to even attempt to escape!How you drained every ounce of grace from him, undoing all that healing! Tell Gadreel how you left him for dead!"

He didn't expect Gadreel to care, he was merely using him to illustrate Bartholomew's crimes, but Gadreel did react. He looked aghast as he listened and more than a little angry. Castiel supposed that after all the effort he had expended in saving Sam, he was upset to hear that his work had been undone.

"I did what was necessary," Bartholomew insisted.

Castiel swept his fist through the air and struck Bartholomew across the jaw. He pulled the punch at the last moment, otherwise the blow would have been fatal, but it was still enough to rock Bartholomew's head to the side.

In his mind's eye, he saw Sam again, lying apparently dead on that bathroom floor, head lolling, and his anger swept through him. He struck out again and again, venting his rage on the new human in the chair. He tried to control his blows, to keep Bartholomew conscious to appreciate the beating, but he didn't fully succeed. With one sharp jab to the temple, Bartholomew passed out.

Castiel gripped his hair and yanked his face up. "I warned you about the Winchester's vengeance, but I forgot to warn you about mine," he snarled. He released Bartholomew and his chin lolled on his chest.

Some of the anger was spent now, and Castiel felt calmer. He stretched his fingers and strode from the room. Gadreel called after him, pleading for him to wait, but Castiel ignored him. The betrayer may have some connection to Sam now, or perhaps just pride in a job well done, but Castiel hadno patience for him when there were other people he cared about that needed him.

He made his way along the halls to Dean's room, where he stood and paused in the doorway. Dean was sitting on a chair beside the bed, drumming his fingers on his knees but speaking calmly.

"And then Crowley came, Sammy, and shivved him through the neck with _two _blades. It was pretty awesome."

Castiel cleared his throat and Dean turned. "Oh. Hey."

"That will help him," Castiel said, "you talking to him. He might be able to hear you."

"He can," Dean said confidently. "He's looking better, too, right? More color and his breathing's easier."

To Castiel, Sam looked the same: gravely ill. He knew that wasn't what Dean needed to hear. He wanted something to bolster his own confidence in Sam. "He does."

Dean nodded his satisfaction. "Yeah. Thought so. Can you heal him some more?"

Castiel shook his head. "Not yet. His body needs a few hours to stabilize before I act again." He paused, thinking he should mention what had happened with Bartholomew and how he had sent Berieah and Kevin to follow Crowley's cryptic message, but as he looked at Dean, he realized his information was not needed in that moment. Dean was absorbed with his brother. Nothing Castiel said was going to impact that.

He moved to the other side of the bed and stood looking down at Sam. Dean glanced up for a moment and then looked back at Sam.

They would wait together, possibly in silence again, but this time there was hope.

Sam was alive.

* * *

><p><strong>So… Team Free Will are reunited and I didn't kill Sammy, Kudos to me for breaking with tradition. <strong>

**Not sure when the next update will come with the holidays, but I'll try to get it out sooner rather than later. **

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx**


	25. Chapter 25

_**Thanks to Jenjoremy for beta'ing. Also to Gredlina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for all their help and support.**_

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><p><em><strong>Chapter Twenty-Five<strong>_

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><p>"<em>I need a favor — big one." <em>

"_Okay." _

"_Find my mother." _

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><p>Berieah gripped the demon around the throat and shoved him against the wall. "I will kill you," she said in a dangerous tone, "but I can make it short and merciful or I can make it last a long time. Which would you prefer?"<p>

The demon flinched. "Merciful, definitely merciful." The vessel looked like he was around Kevin's age, with dark hair and glasses that Kevin was sure were for fashion rather than need. He wondered who this kid had been before he'd been taken over by the demon.

"Then tell us what we are looking for," Berieah said. "Crowley said there was something here for the prophet."

The demon looked Kevin up and down as if appraising him and then he nodded. "Down corridor Q. Unit in the middle."

Kevin scanned the map on the wall quickly and found the corridor he was looking for. He set off running, leaving the Berieah behind to deal with the demon. He didn't know what he was going to find, whether it would be her, but he had a glimmer of hope for the first time.

He came to corridor Q and found the three units. The rolling door of the first was open, and Kevin chanced a glance inside. It was dimly lit and obviously empty. Someone had been there though. There was a cuff and chain bolted to the concrete floor. Trying not to imagine what he was going to see in the middle unit, Kevin tested the padlock but it was tightly sealed. Sam had been teaching him to pick locks in their downtime before everything went to hell, but the tools he needed were in the bunker in his room.

"Berieah!" he shouted.

As his voice echoed down the corridor, he thought he heard a sound coming from inside the unit. He pressed his hand against the steel door and spoke. "Hello?"

"Kevin?"

"Mom?" Kevin closed his eyes and tears spilled down his cheeks.

"Oh, Kevin," she said, and Kevin could tell she was crying.

"I'm getting you out, Mom," he called. "Just hang on a little longer. Berieah!"

"I am here." Berieah ran along the corridor towards him, her eyes wide and alert. "What's wrong?"

"Get this open!" Kevin ordered harshly.

She bent and tugged on the padlock. It broke apart as if made of wet tissue paper. Kevin gripped the handle of the door and yanked upwards, opening it.

Berieah's sword slid into her hand, but Kevin barely paid her a moment's attention. All his focus was on his mother. She was sitting on the dirty floor with a thick cuff around her ankle, tethering her in place. She was grimy and exhausted looking but her eyes blazed with happiness and her smile was wide.

"Kevin. Son."

"Mom." Kevin dropped down beside her and put his arms around her. He could tell she had lost weight but she had lost none of her strength as she gripped him back. She shook and Kevin felt the dampness of her tears on his shoulder.

"It's okay, Mom," he said. "We're getting you out of here."

She released him and held his cheeks in her hands. She leaned back to get a good look at him, and though tears were still streaming from her eyes, she was smiling widely. "You're alive!"

Kevin nodded. "Yeah. I'm fine. Everything's going to be just fine."

Berieah knelt beside them and tore the cuff apart, freeing his mother. She flinched back and looked at the angel with distrust, which Kevin hurried to ease. "It's okay. This is Berieah. She's an angel. She's going to help us."

His mother looked at Kevin with wide, uncomprehending eyes. "An angel? You're running with angels again?"

Kevin laughed slightly. She sounded like she was scolding him for staying out past curfew. "It's a long story, but yeah, I'm running with angels again."

She pursed her lips. "Let's hope she last longer than the last ones did. Now, get me out of here."

Kevin stood and helped her to her feet. She wavered for a moment, and then her innate resilience came to the fore and she straightened. Gripping Kevin's hand tight, she led him out of the unit and onto the corridor.

"So, Sam and Dean," she said. "They still around?"

"Yeah," Kevin said. "We're going to them now."

"Good," she replied stiffly. "I want a word with those two."

Kevin laughed. Sam and Dean were in for the lecture of a lifetime and they didn't even know it. He didn't care though. He would listen as she reamed into them and he would love every minute of it because it was her. She was alive and fighting still. Nothing had ever felt better to him than her hand in his.

* * *

><p>Dean was impatient. He wanted Sam awake. He wanted Sam talking. He wanted Sam doing anything but lying there looking like he was one stuttered breath from death.<p>

Castiel was standing on the opposite side of the bed, and it felt to Dean that this was a death vigil. He hated the thought, wanted to scrub it out of his head, but it persisted.

Eventually, Castiel cleared his throat and said, "I think he can handle a little more now."

Dean's head snapped up. "You're waking him?"

"I will heal him a little more," Castiel corrected. "Whether he wakes or not is completely down to him."

"He'll wake up," Dean said confidently. He wasn't sure whether Castiel was talking about him waking now or at all, but Dean knew his brother. He would wake up and he would be okay. It was the only outcome he was prepared for because anything less made him want to vomit.

Castiel leaned over Sam and pressed his fingers gently to Sam's temple. Dean watched expectantly, looking for some sign of life from his brother, but there was nothing. His eyes didn't open. His breaths didn't change. He was the same as he had been for hours now.

"That is all I can manage for now," Castiel said, stepping back from the bed.

"Because of your grace?" Dean asked, unable to keep the hint of bitterness from his tone.

"No," Castiel replied, sounding offended. "Because there is only so much Sam's body can handle. There is a reason Gadreel healed him from within. Sam has undergone so much trial. His body is… fragile. Trying to heal too much at once would cause him to fail."

Dean nodded. "Okay. Sorry, Cas. I'm just kinda…"

"You are worried. I am, too. I have faith in Sam through. I have seen him do magnificent things before. He will do it again." He smiled at the unconscious man fondly and then looked at Dean. "I will leave you both for a while."

Dean felt that he should have told him to stay, to wait, but he wanted to be alone with Sam, so he stayed silent as Castiel strode from the room.

When he was alone, he studied Sam. It could have been his imagination, but he thought that perhaps there was more color in his cheeks now than there had been before;although at first glance they still looked grey, a closer inspection revealed a slight tinge of pink.

"Looking good, Sammy," he said lightly. "You're doing just fine."

He rested his elbows on his knees and his chin in his hands and just watched for a long time. His vision blurred and his mind began to cloud when something changed. Sam's eyes were rolling benea th their lids. He sat upright. "Hey, Sammy? Can you hear me?"

Sam's eyes cracked open and Dean grinned.

"Hey, about time you woke your lazy ass up."

Sam blinked drowsily and then his eyes came to rest on Dean. His forehead furrowed. "Dean?"

"Yeah, it's me. You're okay."

Sam's gaze roved the room. "Bunker?" he asked weakly.

"That's right. We got you back, and you're going to be just fine."

Sam nodded slightly even as his eyes drifted closed again.

"Hey, now," Dean said firmly. "Wake up!" He knew Sam probably needed at least another week in bed but he wanted him awake for at least a little bit longer.

Sam's eyes rose to half mast and he fixed his gaze on Dean. "Not done. You know?"

Dean frowned. "What?"

"Lied. Not done. No choice." Sam's voice was barely audible; it was clear he was struggling to be heard.

Dean felt a surge of relief as he understood what Sam was saying. He wasn't done. When he'd been beating Dean into the dirt, he'd had no choice. Castiel was right. He'd been working his own mission.

He shook his head. "Don't worry about that now, Sammy. When you're feeling better, we'll talk."

Sam's eyes drifted closed again, and his breathing eased into deep breaths of sleep. Dean bowed his head and breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't much, just a few broken words, but it was Sam talking, and that was enough for him for now.

* * *

><p>As dawn broke, Dean heard excited voices. He chanced a glance at Sam to see if they'd woken him, but he was dead to the world. He was looking better though. His hollowed cheeks were closer to pink now than grey and his breaths came slow and steady. Dean touched two fingers to Sam's throat and felt the thrum of a strong pulse.<p>

He knew he should go see who was there and what was happening, but he didn't want to leave Sam alone in case he woke again.

He sat back in his chair and tried to make out what the voices were saying without success. Footsteps clacked along the hall and a moment later Berieah appeared.

"Hey," Dean said. "Everything okay?"

"Yes. Castiel asked me to attend to Sam for a moment so you can join him."

Dean frowned. "What's going on out there?"

She smiled. "I promised I would let you see for yourself. Kevin was adamant."

Dean stood reluctantly. "If he wakes up again, tell him I'm close."

"I will. Castiel has asked that I attend to his healing as well now."

"Can't Cas do it?"

"He can, suffused with grace as he is at present. However, every time he heals, he sends some of that grace into Sam. It is better for us all that our leader remains as strong as he can be for the coming battle."

That made sense, but Dean didn't like it. It sounded stupid even to himself, but if Sam had to be stuffed full of grace by someone, he wanted it to be Castiel. The battle was what mattered in the grand scheme though, especially to Sam, so he would let Berieah do her thing and he would keep quiet. As long as Sam was fixed up, it would all be okay.

He left the room and strolled down the hall to the library. He could hear Kevin's voice chattering and a smooth female voice replying. He had almost forgotten Crowley's treat for Kevin, but even if he had given it thought, he wouldn't have believed it could be her.

He came into the library and grinned as he caught sight of Linda Tran sitting at the polished table. Kevin looked up and beamed at him. His happiness at his mother's return was blazing in his eyes.

"Mrs. Tran," Dean said. "Good to see you."

She smiled grimly. "Dean. We need to talk."

"Not now, Mom," Kevin said.

She spoke over him. "Kidnapping. Fallen angels. The King of Hell in the dungeon you apparently have now. And my son almost killed more than once. Have you anything to say?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Sorry."

"You think sorry makes it better?" she snapped.

"No, I think it doesn't even come close, and one day I'll sit down with you and try to explain everything that happened and how we did our very best to keep Kevin safe, but right now I have an angel in the dungeon that needs interrogating, a sick brother that needs healing, and a war looming. How's about you choose and room and get settled in?" She scowled at him and he raised his hands at his sides. "Look, I know you want answers, but I can't give them yet. My plate's pretty full."

"C'mon. Mom," Kevin said. "Let's go pick out a room for you."

She allowed herself to be led from the room and Dean sighed. He owed her answers, and he would do his best to give them, but he knew there was no way of making her understand what had happened. Even he knew he'd failed Kevin. He'd almost been killed by Crowley more than once and if Gadreel hadn't had a fit of conscience, he would have been ended with Sam's own hands. No matter how you came at it, it had been a year of epic failure on all counts.

He turned to Castiel. "Berieah said you needed me."

"Yes. Gadreel has been demanding attention. We need to decide what we're going to do with him."

"You mean whether we shish kebab him with an angel blade or go all out and turn him into fish sticks? Hey, I'm down with either option."

Castiel frowned. "I understand your anger, and I feel the same, but there is something we need to consider."

"Yeah, what's that?"

"The fact Gadreel came here looking for Sam of his own free will."

"And that means what exactly?"

Castiel looked impatient. "It means there is more to his story than we know. Gadreel and Sam were apparently working against Metatron, too. We need information and as Sam is in no position to answer our questions at present, we need to talk to Gadreel."

Dean scowled. What he wanted more than anything was to end Gadreel, painfully if possible, but Castiel had a point. The thought of talking to the dickwad angel that had killed his brother, though, for whatever reason, wasn't tempting. Beating him sounded much more appealing.

"He could be an asset," Castiel said.

Dean nodded. "Okay, but let's get it over with. I don't want to leave Sam too long."

Dean followed him to the dungeon and stopped on the threshold, his eyebrows raised. Bartholomew was chained in Crowley's place, looking as if he'd been pummeled to within an inch of his life. Dean had thought he'd be dead already.

"What's he doing here?" Dean asked, pointing at the former angel.

"I wasn't sure what you would want to do with him," Castiel said. "I thoughthis final fate should be decided by you and Sam."

Dean nodded, appeased. He wanted Bartholomew killed for what he had done to Sam, but he wouldn't make the decision alone. It was down to Sam, too. He'd been hurt the most, so he should have the final say.

He glowered at Gadreel. "We need to talk."

"Yes," Gadreel said, "we do, and fast. I do not have much time before Metatron will expect me again."

"You say that like we're going to just let you skip off and see him again."

"You will," Gadreel said confidently.

"And why's that?" Dean asked.

"I am the best chance you have of killing Metatron. I am in his confidence. You need me."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "What's to stop us from just torturing his location out of you and going after him ourselves?"

"The fact that you will fail if you try," Gadreel replied smugly. "There are things you do not know about him. Things you need to know if you are to succeed."

"Yeah, like what?"

"Like the fact he imbibed Castiel's grace."

Castiel visibly started. "He did?"

"You sound so shocked," Gadreel said. "Strange. I can see that you have done the same with another's. Bartholomew's I presume. Why would you think it would be beyond Metatron to do the same?"

"Okay," Dean said in an even tone. "Metatron's got an angelic power-up, too. We can handle that."

Gadreel laughed. "You think so? Do you also have an army? Because he does."

Dean opened his mouth to reply that they did but Castiel caught his eyes and shook his head infinitesimally.

"I concede that you can be of assistance," Castiel said. "You possess information that could help us, but I do not see why we cannot extract that and keep you hostage here."

"You won't," Gadreel said confidently.

"And why's that?" Dean asked.

Gadreel had his eyes fixed on something behind them."Because he won't let you."

Dean turned and sighed. "Sam."

* * *

><p>Sam felt awareness returning to him slowly. He could hear someone close by, walking around, and there was the sense of eyes on him.<p>

"Are you awake?" a voice asked.

It wasn't Dean as he'd assumed. It was a woman. Sam forced his eyes open and looked up into a face with rich mocha skin and deep brown eyes.

"Who are you?" he asked in a cracked voice.

"My name is Berieah."

That was an angel name if Sam had ever heard one. He sighed and closed his eyes. He had been so sure that he was back in the bunker. He'd had the best dream that Dean had been there, that he'd been saved. He'd been able to tell Dean that he hadn't meant it. The disappointment was like a lead weight on his chest.

"I am here to help you," Berieah said.

Sam huffed a laugh. "Sure you are. Where's Mikhail?"

"Dead. The King of Hell killed him. It was quite violent."

Sam opened his eyes again and looked around the room. He took in the familiar wooden furniture and the record player on the dresser. It was Dean's room. He was in Dean's bedroom which meat he _was _back. It didn't explain what this angel was doing there though.

"Who…? What…?" Sam couldn't commandeer his own thoughts.

"I am one of Castiel's lieutenants," she said.

Sam laughed slightly. "Cas has lieutenants again. Awesome. That'll end well."

"I am more than aware of his history," she said. "He is proving himself able this time though."

Sam pushed himself upright with shaking limbs and looked around. "Where's my brother?"

"I believe Dean and Castiel are interrogating the betrayer at present."

"Gadreel's here?"

"Yes. But you do not need to worry. He is restrained in the dungeon."

Where Dean was probably 'interrogating' the hell out of him, Sam thought.

"That's not good," he groaned, easing himself around to the edge of the bed. "I need to stop him."

"You shouldn't move," Berieah said sternly. "You are very unwell."

That wasn't news to Sam. He could feel just how unwell he was in his shaking limbs and panting breaths. He felt like he had the worst case of the flu and had taken a beating all rolled into one shaky, achy package.

"Help me out," he said, struggling to get to his feet.

"I shouldn't," she said reluctantly.

"Look, I'm going to Dean even if I have to crawl all the way." And that felt like a very real possibility with the way his head was swimming. "You can watch or you can help. What's it going to be?"

In response, she lifted him to his feet and then draped his arm over her shoulder. "I see Dean is not the only stubborn Winchester."

"Lady, you have no idea," Sam replied.

He waited a moment to be sure his legs were going to hold him and then started forward. Leaning heavily on Berieah, they got out to the hall and he braced his free hand on the wall.

"I could carry you," she offered.

"Thanks, but no," Sam said. "Dean's already going to give me hell. We don't need to add me being carried around like a damsel in distress to his ammunition."

"As you wish."

They made slow progress along the hall toward the dungeon. As they walked through the file storage room, Sam listened to the conversation happening inside.

"I concede that you can be of assistance," Castiel said. "You possess information that could help us, but I do not see why we cannot extract that and keep you hostage here."

Gadreel caught Sam's eye. "You won't."

"And why's that?" Dean asked, menace dripping from his tone.

Gadreel smiled at Sam. "Because he won't let you."

Dean turned and sighed. "Sam."

"Hey," Sam said, swaying on Berieah's shoulder like a drunk.

"Whoa," Dean said, rushing to his side and looping his other arm around his shoulders. "You okay?"

Sam nodded and leaned heavily on his brother. "Just fine."

He looked around the room. Gadreel was chained to the wall, but he looked smug as he watched Sam. Bartholomew, bloodied and beaten, was in the chair that had been Crowley's and the King of Hell was nowhere in sight.

"Cas, help us out here," Dean said.

Castiel nodded and moved quickly to stand beside Bartholomew. He slipped the collar from around his neck and pushed him forward roughly. He tumbled from the chair to fall boneless to the concrete floor. Castiel shoved him into a corner and Dean and Berieah half led half carried Sam to the chair. Sam let himself sink down gratefully, not caring that his resting place was equipped with chains, just grateful that he was sitting.

Dean rested a hand on his shoulder and turned his attention to Berieah. "What the hell?" he snapped. "You were supposed to be watching him."

"I was," she said. "He wanted to come here."

"And you let him?"

Gadreel chuckled softly. "What were you thinking, letting Sam make his own choice like that?"

"Gadreel," Sam said tiredly. "Don't be a dick. Dean, it's fine. I'm fine."

"Yeah, you really look it," Dean said. "Jeez, Sam, can't you just do the sensible thing for once in your life?"

Sam gritted his teeth. He would have liked to call Dean on his shit, but it wasn't the time or place. Besides, Dean owed him more than a little attitude after everything he'd done.

"So," he said, resting his elbows on his knees and looking at Gadreel. "What did I miss?"

Gadreel smiled. "I was successful in ingratiating myself with Metatron again. I have been appointed his second-in-command. I have spent the time since our parting recruiting for his cause."

Sam nodded. "You're using that sigil thing?"

"Yes. It is an effective way of drawing angels in."

"How long have you got before he's going to notice you're not recruiting still?" Sam asked.

"A few days perhaps. The ranks are swelling fast, but I—"

Dean spoke over him. "What the hell, Sam?"

Sam blinked. "What?"

"You're talking like… He's acting like… What the hell?"

"We are talking like coconspirators," Gadreel said. "He's acting like he trusts me. We are and he does."

Dean's grip on Sam's shoulder tightened to the point of pain. "Look, you feathered dick, I'm a couple words away from dousing you in holy oil and busting out the marshmallows, so how about you stow the smug bastard crap for a minute?"

"You won't kill me," Gadreel said. "Sam won't let you."

Dean shook his head. "You don't know my brother."

"Oh, I do," Gadreel said. "I know him better than—"

"Enough!" Sam snapped. "Cut it out, you two. We've got bigger things to about it." He massaged his aching temples. "How many has Metatron got in his army now?"

"Around thirty," Gadreel said, "with more coming in every day. There are two others out recruiting as well as me."

Sam blew out a breath and turned to Castiel. "How many have you got, Cas?"

Castiel hesitated. "I have… some."

Sam shook his head, irritated. "I know that already. Berieah said she's your lieutenant, and you don't have that without an army. So how many have you got?"

"Around a dozen," Castiel admitted while Dean cursed.

Sam weighed that up. The odds were stacked in Metatron's favor at the moment. Castiel would need to go on a recruiting drive if they were to make it out in an open fight. Unless that could get Metatron alone… If they could take him out, the angels would be leaderless, and they weren't the best when it came to thinking for themselves.

"Where's Metatron?" he asked Gadreel.

"Heaven," Gadreel said simply. "I left him a few days ago."

"You've been home?" Castiel asked, eyes wide and intense.

Gadreel smiled and looked at Sam. "I have news for you. I saw—"

"I'm sure that's awesome and all," Dean interrupted. "But how about we get back to what matters. How did you get into Heaven if Metatron closed it up tight?"

"There is a spell. It creates a portal between Earth and Heaven. It is currently in use in Colorado, but I believe it can be moved."

"Awesome," Dean said. "Someone get him a pen and paper. Jot down this spell and we'll be sure to let you know how it goes."

"No," Gadreel said calmly. "I will not facilitate Castiel's death. He cannot fight Metatron alone."

"He won't be alone," Dean said harshly. "We'll be with him."

"The portal is only for angels," Gadreel said. "You cannot hope to assist him, even if you were able to travel to Heaven. You will have to trust me if you are going to succeed."

"Trust you!" Dean laughed harshly. "After what you did to Sam!"

"I did only what Sam wanted. I saved his life."

"Yeah, then you hijacked him and went on the world weirdest road trip."

Given that their entire lives had been one long weird-ass road trip, that was a powerful statement from Dean.

"Sam trusts me, don't you, Sam?"

Sam groaned as a wave of pain swept through him. "I trust that Dean will kick your ass if you don't tone it down a little. Just…give it a rest."Gadreel scowled at him, but Sam didn't much care. He was feeling worse than ever and he had a sneaking suspicion that this conversation was about to end abruptly for him. "What's your plan, Gadreel?"

Gadreel sighed. "I don't have one yet. Metatron's forces outnumber Castiel's, so we cannot risk open warfare. I need to be released so I can return to Metatron and remain in his good graces."

Sam nodded. "Okay. Dean, let him free."

"Are you kidding me? After everything he did! He killed you, Sam!"

"Because I told him to," Sam said weakly. "I was the one that made him do it for the mission. I'm asking you to let him go for the same reason. He's useless to us chained up here, but if we let him go, he might be able to do something useful for us." He drew a deep breath. "Trust me if you can't trust him." Sam's vision swam and he felt himself slipping forward. He felt hands on his shoulders, holding him up and someone shouting, but before he could speak, to reassure Dean, he was unconscious.

* * *

><p><strong>So… Momma Tran is back, Sam's just about up and on his feet, and Gadreel is being a bit of a dick. Originally, he was an even bigger dick to Dean, but it was too OOC for the angel I've been portraying so far, so I toned it down. Shame. It was apparently fun to read before. Hope it was still interesting for you. <strong>

**Until next time…**

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


	26. Chapter 26

**Huge thanks to Jenjoremy for beta'ing and to Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for general awesomeness. **

**Happy New Year folks. Hope 2015 is good to you all.**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty-Six<strong>

* * *

><p>"<em>You've saved my life over and over. I mean, you sacrifice everything for me. Don't you think I'd do the same for you? You're my big brother. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you."<em>

* * *

><p>When Sam woke again, he was back in Dean's bedroom with a blanket over him. As he blinked wearily and got his bearings, someone cleared his throat. Dean was standing at the end of the bed with his arms folded across his chest and his jaw tensed.<p>

"What happened?" Sam asked drowsily.

"You took a nose dive at my feet because you were a stubborn jerk who got out of bed about a week before you were ready."

Sam rolled his eyes and struggled to sit.

"What're you doing now?"

"Sitting up," he said. "I feel like I'm on my deathbed like this."

"Close enough," Dean replied sharply.

"Dean, calm down. It's not that bad. I feel better than I did earlier."

"Earlier was yesterday, Sam!You still look like hell, so you're staying put or I'll have Berieah knock you out again."

Sam frowned. "Wait… you've been keeping me out? For a whole day?"

Dean shrugged. "Seemed to be the only way to keep you in bed, so I went with it."

Sam glared at him. After all they'd been through, all they'd done, Dean was still making choices for him that he had no right to make.

"Pull the bitch face all you like," Dean said, unconcerned. "It doesn't change a thing."

"Apparently nothing does," Sam said bitterly. He pushed himself upright and sat back against the headboard with his legs stretched out in front of him. "Why should I be able to make a choice for myself when you can just get another angel to screw with me?" It was a low blow and he knew it, but he was pissed.

Dean looked like he wanted to say something harsh in return, but when he spoke he was calm. "I did what I had to do."

Sam laughed softly. "Yeah, I bet you did."

Dean spoke through gritted teeth. "Look Sam, if I hadn't done what I did, you would be dead. How about a little gratitude?"

"Gratitude!" Sam laughed. "For stuffing me with an angel and almost getting Kevin killed?"

"I'm talking about yesterday, Sam, not what happened then."

"I'm talking about both times!"

Dean stepped forward, his hands clenched at his sides. Sam thought he was going to punch him but he didn't. Instead, he loomed over Sam with his hands fisted, almost vibrating with frustrated rage. "It's so easy for you, isn't it? You can decide you've had enough with life and skip off with Death. You can plot with an angel to be murdered. You can go strolling around the bunker days before you should even be out of bed, face-planting at my feet when your body can't take anymore. What about me? I'm the one who has to live in the world you leave behind. I'm the one who sees the pictures of you with your eyes burned out. I'm the one who finds you chained in a bathroom, half dead, and I'm the one who has to catch you when you fall!"

Sam looked away. He felt uncomfortable in the face of Dean's anger because he could tell it was born of desperation. He hadn't known Dean had seen the picturesGadreel had taken. He couldn't have known when he and Gadreel had hatched their plan that Dean would ever find out what they'd done. And maybe he should have stayed in bed till he was stronger, but Gadreel's life had been on the line, and Sam couldn't just let him die.

"I couldn't let you kill Gadreel," he said defensively.

Dean shook his head and turned away. "But you can beat me half to death and that's okay? I guess a lifetime of being brothers isn't as important as having an angel to buddy up with, right?"

"I had no choice. It was the only way to keep you and Kevin safe."

"Because explaining wouldn't have had the same impact as a beating, right?"

Sam's jaw jutted out. "No, because I knew if you'd thought I was in any way trapped, you would make it your mission to help me, even at the cost of your own life. I had to make you believe I was done. I did what I had to do."

"Like I'm some kind of halfwit that can only understand violence."

Sam groaned. "Be honest with yourself for once. If you'd known I was backed into a corner, would you have stayed here with Kevin? Or would you have come after me?"

"I would have made sure Kevin was safe first. I would have left Cas with him."

"And who would have kept you safe?" Sam asked.

Dean's eyes narrowed. "I don't need you to keep me safe, Sam."

"And I don't need you to keep me alive." Sam sagged back against the headboard. "Look, I know it must have been hard for you, everything that happened, but you've got to trust that sometimes I know what I'm doing." He could see the reply in Dean's eyes, and he spoke over him. "I know I've screwed up before, but it's been a long time since Ruby, and I learned my lesson. I won't make the same mistake again. I won't screw the world over a second time."

"And yourself? What's to stop you screwing us both over by you diving toward death?" His jaw tightened. "Do you _want _to die, Sam? Is that what this is about?"

"No!" Sam said a little too quickly for it to be believable. He looked into Dean's horrified eyes and shook his head, his anger evaporating. "I thought I did. I thought I was done, that I'd had enough. Even up until a couple weeks ago I thought that. Then I thought Gadreel was going to kill me, and I realized I could die without ever making things right with you. That was… I changed my mind."

"That's not reassuring, Sam. You didn't want to live, you just didn't want to go before you'd made me feel better."

"No, it's more than that," Sam said doggedly. "It's you and Cas and Kevin. If there's a reason for me to go, to do some good, then I'll die happy. But I'm not throwing myself under the bus for nothing. Can you honestly say you wouldn't do the same?"

"I don't want to die," Dean said harshly.

"Neither do I, but I'm not afraid of it either."

Dean was silent. Sam could see the conflict in his eyes. Dean would die for the cause, too. He'd been primed for that all of his adult life. But he wouldn't let Sam die. It wasn't about not letting him make decisions for himself; it was about letting go. Dean had never been able to let Sam go, and it was unlikely he ever would be.

"Let's just…" Sam sighed, "stow this for now and talk about it some other time." Like never.

Dean looked torn. Sam knew he wanted to get away from this conversation, he was uncomfortable with emotional stuff, but at the same time he wasn't reassured by what Sam had said.

"We are going to talk about this, Sam," he said. "We're having this conversation eventually whether you like it or not."

Sam nodded, relieved. "Okay. We will."

He swung his legs around to the edge of the bed and eased himself to his feet. Dean grabbed his shoulders. "Whoa, what are you doing?"

"I need the bathroom."

Dean released him and stepped back. "Can you manage it alone?"

Sam laughed. "I've been able to for a few years now." He made his way across the room slowly. He felt shaky and weak still, but he was dammed if he was going to let Dean help him get to the bathroom. He had to get back on his feet fast if he was going to be able to help anyone.

"I'll get you something to eat," Dean said to his retreating back.

"Sure," Sam said, waving an airy hand. "I'll be right out."

"I'm bringing it here."

"I'm eating in the library," Sam replied.

"You're going to be hungry then because there won't be any food there."

Sam smiled as he let the door close behind him. Dean's hair trigger anxiety aside, it was good to be back.

* * *

><p>Dean came out of the kitchen with a tray in his hands to see Sam sitting at the table with a beaming smile in place. Dean started to walk right past him, to deliver the tray to his room where Sam could get his ass back in bed like the invalid he was, but Sam called after him. "C'mon, man, I'm hungry."<p>

Dean sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. Why couldn't Sam once, just once, do what was best for him? He was pale and shaky and looked like he might collapse again at any moment, and he really belonged in bed, but the stubborn ass was going to push his luck all the way again.

He turned and set the tray down roughly on the table. "Fine. Eat where you want. I don't care."

"Thank you," Sam said happily, picking up the sandwich Dean had made and taking a bite.

Dean sat opposite him and looked around the room. Sam had spent the past day asleep, and Dean had spent it sitting right by his little brother's side. Castiel had come and gone occasionally, and even Kevin had come in once—to check Sam was okay, Dean was sure—but they'd been left alone mainly. It wouldn't last though. Mrs. Tran was still in the bunker somewhere and she'd want that chat Dean had promised. Kevin had prophet duties to attend to, and Castiel and his sidekicks were making noise about Gadreel, so that would have to be dealt with. Dean was exhausted after a couple days of snatches of sleep in a hard chair, but it was unlikely he was going to get much rest for a while yet.

Sam pushed his plate away after eating only half of the sandwich Dean had made him. "Sorry, man," he said in response to Dean's raised eyebrow. "I guess my stomach's shrunk or something. It's been a while since I ate a real meal."

Dean was curious. "I guess Gadreel wasn't much for meal stops."

Sam shook his head. "Not really. I mean, when I was in control it was okay, I could eat, but the fact that I didn't really need to kindamade it seem stupid. I think the last time I ate was the day Metatron found us, and that was a couple weeks ago."

Dean's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean you were in control?"

Sam stared pointedly into his eyes. "We'd split time basically. Sometimes Gadreel was running the switches while I was stuck in my own head, and other times I was the one in charge while Gadreel was working on fixing me."

"And you didn't think, not even once, to maybe call me up and let me know you were okay?"

Sam sighed and raked his hands over his face. "Dean, I'm not doing this again. You know why I kept my distance, and it wasn't because I was having a blast with Gadreel. I was trying to save your life. Kevin's too."

Dean opened his mouth to reply, to tell Sam he didn't need saving, but Castiel chose that moment to appear. Dean wondered if he'd been lurking out of sight and had chosen that moment to join them to avert another blowout.

"Hey," Sam said, looking up and smiling at the angel.

"Sam." There was more than a greeting in Castiel's voice. He was expressing relief and pleasure in the single syllable. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," Sam said quickly, and Dean wondered if he was managing to convince himself because he wasn't fooling anyone else.

Castiel narrowed his eyes and looked Sam up and down. "You are healing."

Sam laughed and shook his head. "Okay."

"Now that you are awake, we need to decide what to do with Bartholomew," Castiel said. "Human he may be, but he is still a nuisance."

"He's human?" Sam asked. "Did Metatron get him, too?"

Dean grinned. "Nah, that's all down to Cas. He slit the slippery son of a bitch's throat and nabbed the grace for himself."

Sam looked confused and Dean realized he hadn't been filled in on the whole borrowed grace thing yet. They had a lot to catch up on.

"Okay," Sam said slowly. "If you slit his throat, why does he look like his face has been put through a grinder?"

"Yeah, Cas," Dean grinned as he turned to the angel. "Want to tell Sammy what happened there?"

"I was upset," Castiel said, "and he was deserving."

"Was it something he said?" Sam asked. "'Cause if it was, I'd like to know what. I don't want to slip up and end up looking like him."

Missing the joke completely, Castiel said, "I wouldn't do that to you, Sam. It was in vengeance of your suffering that Bartholomew was hurt."

"Oh." Sam rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Well, thanks, Cas."

Castiel smiled slightly. "You are more than welcome. Now, what would you like to do with Bartholomew?"

Sam expression became solemn. "I don't know. Dean?"

Dean leaned back in his chair. "I guess we could kill him. He deserves it after all. But it doesn't feel like enough to me."

"We have another option," Castiel said with a grim smile. "I can wipe his memories and set him loose. He would have no recollection of Metatron or us or even of being an angel. He would be just another vagrant with problems."

"Yeah," Sam said, nodding. "That works for me.

"Good," Castiel said with satisfaction. "I will attend to that. Also, there is the matter of Gadreel to discuss. We need to decide what we are going to do with him."

Dean cursed internally. It wasn't like he didn't think Sam would find out about their prisoner still being there, but he'd thought maybe he'd have a few more hours to come up with a good enough excuse for keeping him other than 'I don't like him', though that was an understatement. He more than disliked the angel; he hated him. No matter why he did it or whose agreement he had or even how temporary it was, the fact he had been the one to kill Sam didn't sit with him.

"He's still here?" Sam glared at Dean. "What the hell?"

"Yeah, he's still here," Dean said. "You think I was just going to let the brother killing psycho angel roam free?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, we've talked about this. He did what he had to do for the mission, and it was my idea."

"Which is all kinds of comforting," Dean said angrily. "It doesn't matter that you died just as long as it was your idea."

"I told you to let him go!" Sam snapped.

Dean clapped a hand to his forehead. "Oh, I forgot you're the boss of me. So sorry, Sam. I'll run off and let him free now, shall I?"

"Yeah," Sam said, ignoring the sarcasm completely. "Go do that."

Dean looked to Castiel for support only to find Castiel nodding with Sam. "I think that would be best, Dean."

Dean's mouth dropped open. "You're joking, right?"

"No. I have spent a great deal of time talking with Gadreel, and I believe he is acting for the greater good, too. He wants to see Metatrondealt with almost as much as we do. He is our best chance of successful incursion."

Dean shook his head. "I don't believe this crap."

Castiel sighed. "You asked me to lead, Dean, and I am."

"I didn't ask you to lead me!"

"Nonetheless, that is what I am doing."

Dean stared from him to Sam uncomprehendingly. How could they not see this was wrong? Gadreel had killed Sam! How could they let him go after that?He was tempted to point out that Castiel's decision making hadn't ended well in the past, nor had Sam's, but he bit his tongue. He didn't exactly have the best track record of choices lately either.

"Okay," he said reluctantly, mainly because he had a feeling that they'd let Gadreel loose whether he agreed or not. "We'll let him go, but neither of you can give me any crap about Crowley. Understood?"

Castiel nodded and Sam asked, "What about Crowley?"

Dean grinned and braced himself for the mother of all bitch fits from Sam. "I let him go."

* * *

><p><strong>So… We're getting to the end now. Only a few more chapters to go. Hope you enjoyed this one. <strong>

**Until next time… **

**Clowns or Midgets xxx **


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